


Secrets and Chocolate Cream

by CharlotteAshmore



Series: Regency Rumbelle [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Pining, Romance, Smut, Spanking, more smut, regency au, stigma - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-05
Updated: 2019-03-20
Packaged: 2019-11-12 04:08:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 87,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18003542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharlotteAshmore/pseuds/CharlotteAshmore
Summary: Jefferson and Emma have their fair share of problems and can't decide whether they want to be friends or enemies. When she decides that only he will do as her husband, Jefferson is forced to do anything and everything to deter her so the secret he keeps won't destroy them both. But will it be enough? Part 2 of my Regency Rumbelle Verse.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended. This is a work of pure fiction. All characters and events depicted in this story are entirely fictitious. Any similarity to actual events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
> 
> A/N: This story picks up about six months after the end of Éclairs & Chocolate Kisses. Jefferson and Emma's tale needs to be told after all.

          The Earl of Rochefort stared down into the crackling fire with unseeing hooded grey eyes, a glass of his finest scotch forgotten in his hand where it rested against the arm of his chair. He sighed wearily, grateful for the solitude of his study. It wasn't often he was granted a moment of peace when he was in residence at Rochefort and he thought it best to savor the moment. He loved his ancestral home, at one time the halls having been filled with love and laughter, but that had been years ago, when his father had been alive.

          Now it was cold and dismal and not at all welcoming … nothing like Sheffield or Robert Gold's townhouse in London. But then, the Duke of Sheffield was more of a brother to him than a mere friend. It was only natural he felt more comfortable with family … a family which was growing. Belle was seven months pregnant and she and Robbie couldn't be happier. _He_ couldn't be happier.

          He raked a hand through his hair and rested his head against the back of his chair. No, that wasn't quite true. He couldn't help the feelings of resentment he harbored towards his friends. They were so happy, so in love and Jefferson had to admit he was more than a little jealous. For the last several years, he'd wanted the same for himself, to find a woman he could love and have a family of his own. He hid those desires behind a mask of cool disdain for anything of a romantic nature.  _She_ would never allow him to find happiness … not without paying her price.

          Eyes the most brilliant shade of emerald, sparkling with desire, danced across his mind's eye. Pale alabaster skin, golden curls and the softest lips he'd ever tasted tormented him.  _Emma …_ He groaned, the sound mingling with the crackling of the logs in the hearth. He couldn't ever remember wanting a woman as he did her. She challenged his wit, sparked his ire, and as long as he was being honest with himself, yes, she enflamed his desire to the point where he would wake in a cold sweat in the middle of the night, her name on his lips.

          _Emma …_  Yet his exquisite little blonde was not one for a short-lived dalliance. No, she would never settle for less than a ring on her finger and till death do us part. It was a tragedy he couldn't have her, but if it was one thing he would never be able to offer her, it was his name.

          Ladies of quality did not marry men born on the wrong side of the blanket … no matter how wealthy or titled they may be. What woman would want to have children with a man of questionable birth? It didn't matter that there were only four people in all of England who knew the truth … Edith Madden, Robert and Abigail Gold and himself.

          His mother - his birth mother - had died not long after she'd borne him, and his father had passed when Jefferson had been the tender age of thirteen. They wouldn't be telling anyone. He would never understand why the previous earl had agreed to an arranged marriage to a woman he could barely tolerate. And the feeling had been mutual. When Marshall Madden had found love with a gently bred woman and fallen in love, his happiness had been snatched away, leaving him only with Jefferson and a wife he couldn't stand. However, instead of hiding his son away, he'd brought him home and raised him practically alone with only the aid of the servants.

          Jefferson tossed back the amber liquid in his glass and sighed. He'd never understood as a child why his mother didn't love him. She'd relished the agony on his face after Marshall had passed away and she was able to finally break her silence and tell him the truth. It had nearly destroyed him. Not so much that he was a bastard, but the promise Edith Madden made the day of the funeral. If was every fortunate enough to find happiness, she would rip it away by telling anyone who would listen the miserable circumstances of his birth.

          Two months later he'd been shipped off to Eton where he'd met Robert. They'd been inseparable since they'd been roommates at that boarding school. Robert simply didn't care. He was a duke, and could do as he pleased. Robert hadn't even told Belle, and as an empath it was nearly impossible to keep anything from her. That was why he wouldn't give in to the dreaded state of matrimony. He refused to let the stigma of his birth, should the truth ever come out, make his wife hate him. He wouldn't suffer through a loveless marriage as his parents had.

          How could he ever subject a woman to that? Especially the lovely Emma?

          His brows drew together in a concerned frown over his closed eyes. Emma wasn't without her own misfortune. Not long after Belle and Robert had learned they were expecting their first child, tragedy had struck for Emma. She'd lost both of her parents to a tragic house fire, an overturned lamp in the parlor the cause of the blaze. By the time the fire had reached the upper floors where Daniel and Regina slept, the smoke had already taken their lives and those of four of their servants. If Emma hadn't been away at Sheffield visiting with Belle and the dowager, she would have been lost as well. He shuddered, the thought of his - no, not his, he scolded himself - the thought of Emma's vibrant flame snuffed out before she'd even begun to live. It was too horrible to contemplate.

          Jefferson hadn't seen her since the memorial service. He'd convinced himself it was best to put as much distance between himself and temptation as possible. He'd gone so far as to remove himself from London and closet himself away on his estate in Northumberland which bordered Robert's own lands. But even the long six-month separation hadn't been enough to drive her from his thoughts.

          Robert was less than pleased with Jefferson’s withdrawal from London, missing his closest friend, as it were. But Robert and Belle, being Emma's closest relatives had taken the girl in and now she was firmly ensconced at the townhouse. It just wouldn't do for him to stay true to his habit of staying with the Golds with her in residence. And he didn't relish the idea of staying at his own house in the city. It would be like placing an entire plate of éclairs in front of the new duchess. He would much rather have returned to London for a quick visit had his estate manager not tracked him down with a desperate plea to return to Rochefort.

          His teeth gnashed together as he thought of his  _mother_. The countess had taken it upon herself to redecorate the entire manor, gouging a sizable chunk from the coffers. It wasn't so much the money, but rather the choice of décor with its loud garish colors. He felt as if he were going to go blind if he had to look at it another moment. Closing his eyes, Emma's lovely visage flitted across his mind. He'd stayed away long enough … tomorrow he'd return to London. She probably hadn't thought of him in months, it should be safe.

 

*.*.*

 

          Jefferson removed his jacket and loosened his cravat as he walked down the long hall to Robert's study. It had been a horrible two weeks at Rochefort, and he needed a drink and his friend's companionship. Perhaps a stiff scotch and some light banter would help dispel the nasty taste in his mouth left by his mother's vile company. He caught a flash of a black lace hem and the delectable curve of a well-turned ankle disappear into the parlor and a slow smile lifted the corners of his mouth. Teasing pretty little Emma Morrison had become his favorite form of entertainment before he'd exiled himself to Northumberland.

          To put it simply, their relationship - if one could call it that - had gotten off to a rocky start. It had begun at Sheffield.  _Ah, the infamous house party which had gotten Robert bound in honorable matrimony in the first place,_  Jefferson thought with a grin. Robert had thought it would be so funny to pair them at dinner. Jefferson hadn't. The little twit had prattled endlessly until he'd been ready to crawl over the table and throttle Robert for such a cruel jest. Then she had come upon the duke in an inappropriate embrace with Belle and Jefferson had been forced to fetch her back and assure her silence. She was a brat! With the most kissable lips in London. Twice he'd had to rescue her from the lecherous advances of Lord Malcolm Wendell. Jefferson shuddered at the thought of that monster with his hands all over her.

          After he'd come to her aid the second time, they'd actually had time to sit and talk. Too bad he'd ended up kissing her that night. If she hadn't been teasing him, sucking the whipped cream from her finger right off the top of her hot chocolate. It was her fault, of course. What man could've resisted after that? Jefferson groaned, just the thought of how she'd tasted, like chocolate and cream, making him hard and aching. She still hadn't been on speaking terms with him at her parent's memorial service and he hadn't had the heart to tease her then. But that had been months ago.

          Jefferson pushed Emma from his mind and opened the door to Robert's study. He really needed a drink now. His gaze swung to his friend sitting on the sofa before the small hearth. He should've known Belle would be with him. Robert's very pregnant wife was perched on his lap feeding him chocolates from the box next to them.

          "I thought you had banned chocolate from the house after you started gaining weight," Jefferson said drolly as he poured himself a glass of Robert's finest scotch whiskey.

          A blush rose in the duke’s face as he kissed the corner of Belle's mouth and set her gently on the sofa. "Yeah, well, Belle had a craving for chocolate covered raspberry creams. And she's been so uncomfortable of late, how could I deny her?"

          Jefferson rolled his eyes at Belle in mock irritation and she stuck her tongue out at him. "You spoil her," he commented dryly, pouring a glass of scotch for Robert and handing it to him.

          "Judging by the haggard look about your eyes, I take it things didn't go well at Rochefort?" Robert asked as he dropped into the chair behind his desk.

          "That woman!" Jefferson railed. "She is the most disagreeable harpy imaginable. I'm surprised she didn't try to have me poisoned while I was there. And the money. Don't even get me started on how much of my money she's wasted redecorating. It's not even something I would want. It's horrible, garish and just all-around displeasing. It's going to cost double to put it back to rights."

          "Then I guess it's a good thing you don't have to worry about money," Robert scoffed in a dry tone.

          "Why do you hate your mother so much?" Belle asked, tilting her head to the side and regarding him closely as she popped another chocolate into her mouth.

          Jefferson tossed his drink back and poured himself another. "We have a complicated relationship."

          "So you were born on the wrong side of the blanket. Why should that matter?" Belle replaced the top on the box of chocolates. It was no fun when Robert wasn't sharing them with her. Jefferson startled her by spraying his scotch all over the Aubusson carpet.

          "You told her!" Jefferson shouted, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand and turning to glare at Robert.

          "No."

          "Sorry," Belle apologized, her face twisting into a puzzled frown.

          "Belle, get the hell out of my bloody head," Jefferson hissed, glaring at her with icy grey eyes.

          Belle apologized again. "I'm so sorry, Jeff. I haven't really had any control over my gift lately. The closer I comes to my time, the more uncontrollable it seems to be. Hormones?"

          "Really, Jefferson. You let it bother you entirely too much," Robert said stiffly. "Those who love you don't care one whit what side of the blanket you come from."

          "Yeah," Jefferson said in a low voice. Robert had never cared one way or the other. He'd always seen Jefferson as a kindred spirit, someone who could be a true friend to him without seeing his title. Jefferson couldn't care less about titles. He himself had one and wished he didn't. It was too much of a burden.

          Jefferson was distracted from his brooding thoughts by a knock at the study door. He was further surprised to see it was Emma's lovely blonde head which poked around the door.

          "Belle, the dowager is having tea in the parlor and was wondering if you would like to join us," Emma said, her eyes brightening as they landed on Jefferson. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to intrude."

          "Nonsense, Emma. Tell Abby I'll be along in a moment," Belle smiled, moving to Robert's side to brush her lips to his. "I will see you later, my love."

          When the door closed behind her, Jefferson rounded on his friend, casually slouching back into the chair set before Robert's desk. "I was surprised to hear you were here in London. Still haven't convinced Abby to return to Sheffield?"

          "Believe it or not, it was Belle's idea to remain in London for a while. She wants Emma to be surrounded by people who care about her. She doesn't have many friends she seems to tolerate, but the few she has are all here for the beginning of the season. Belle is also trying to keep her as distracted as possible to help keep her from sinking deeper into her depression," Robert said, toying with the quill lying on his desk.

          "She's settling in well then?" Jefferson asked absently, trying to remain aloof so as not to alert his friend to his rabid interest.

          "I have to say, I never thought I'd have taken in a ward, much less Emma Morrison. It was Belle's idea," he grinned sheepishly. "She can be rather convincing when the need arises."

          Jefferson shook his head with a laugh. "You two are ridiculous."

          Robert raised a brow and his smile widened. "You should get yourself a wife so you can be ridiculous, too." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively at his friend. "Marriage definitely has its perks."

          "So, Emma's going to be a permanent fixture around here, huh?" At Robert's nod, he continued. "How is she coping with this tragedy?"

          Robert shrugged his shoulders. "I can't really say. She spends most of her time with Belle and takes her meals in her room mostly. I don't see much of her. She was very close to her father, but we all know how difficult her life was with Regina."

          "So, what are your plans concerning her?" Jefferson asked, surprised at how much Robert's answer meant to him. Why should he care what happened to Emma? He couldn't even say she was his friend. Could he? She definitely harbored no tender feelings for him that he was aware of.

          "She's going to have to sit out the rest of the season for sure because of her mourning period. I thought about arranging a marriage for her so she didn't have to go through trying to find a husband on her own due to her circumstances, but Belle wouldn't hear of it. She said if Emma couldn't marry for love to a man of her own choosing then she didn't need to marry at all."

          Robert rose from his desk, circling around the corner to make his way to the door. "Come say hello to Abby. Are you going to be staying with us or your own house? We'll be returning to Sheffield in a few days if you'd like to join us there as well," he offered, knowing there was no need.

          "I don't know about Sheffield, but with Emma in residence, I think it would be best to stay at my townhouse," Jefferson replied, rising to follow Robert to the parlor.

          "Jeff, you know you're welcome to stay with us."

          "I know, Robbie. But I don't want anyone speculating and starting gossip about Emma with such a prime bachelor under the same roof. You know how the  _ton_  can be. Vicious lies, they'd be, too."

          Robert looked at his friend curiously. "Hmm."

          "Don't give me that look, Robbie. I don't want to have anything to do with that little girl," Jefferson warned _. Perfect!_   _Now I'm not only lying to myself, but Robbie, too._

          Robert let the matter drop and entered the parlor to have tea with the ladies. He knew there was something Jefferson wasn't telling him, but he decided to be patient and wait. Jefferson never kept things from him for long.

 

*.*.*

 

          Lady Emma Morrison looked up from her tea and blanched. She did  _not_  need to sit through afternoon tea with that irritating man, she thought silently. She didn't need to hear him call her 'little girl' or 'rabbit' or whatever disparaging name he had on the agenda for today.

          Gulping her tea, she excused herself and passed through the French doors leading into the garden. Abigail Gold had a penchant for roses. She would love to see them in the spring. She didn't even know where she would be come spring. She shouldn't have come out here without a cloak, she thought, shivering. It was only a few days until Christmas and snow covered the ground. Her first Christmas without her father. Tears coursed silently down her ashen face. Maybe she could skirt the house and enter through the kitchen and then take the servant's stairs up to her room.

          Emma stifled a scream of fright as Jefferson draped his jacket over her shoulders. "You shouldn't be out here without your cloak, milady," he said gently, removing the handkerchief from the pocket of his waistcoat and drying her tears. "I was saddened to hear of your loss, Emma."

          Jefferson's jacket was still warm with his body heat as Emma pulled it closer to her. It smelled of cigar smoke and scotch and Jefferson and she shivered, this one more from pleasure than from the cold. He pulled her into the warmth of his embrace and ran a soothing hand along her back … or at least what he intended to be soothing.

          Emma tried to push away from him, but Jefferson held her fast. "It's alright, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice husky with emotion and she melted into his comforting embrace, crying in earnest, no longer able to fight the deluge building behind her closed lids.

          What was is about this man which brought out both the best and worst in her? Why was Jefferson the one person she wanted comfort from? Belle and Robert had been with her through the worst of her grief and she was beginning to heal, but it was Jefferson she wanted comfort from, Jefferson's arms she wanted to feel around her. His warm chest she wanted to press her face to and cry out her suffering. Emma just stood there crying, holding onto him as if her very life depended on it until there were no more tears. The pain was still there, the pain of loss and abandonment, but she had at last found the solace she needed in his arms.

          Jefferson lifted her face and dried her tears. "Feel better?" he asked gently, stroking a stray lock of hair from her brow. He cupped her face in his large hands and kissed her nose, offering her a sad smile. "Let's get you back inside and out of the cold."

          Emma smiled weakly up into his warm grey eyes, the first she'd smiled in weeks. She stepped out of his embrace and took the hand he offered, letting him lead her to the kitchen entrance. He sat her on a stool at the long work counter next to the hearth and asked Mrs. Green to fix them each a cup of chocolate. Emma's smile vanished.

          "What are you playing at, Jefferson?" she asked, her eyes narrowed on him. It hadn't been so long ago she'd sat on this same stool having an innocent cup of chocolate with him which had ended in a not so innocent kiss.

          "I simply want to warm you, is all," he said innocently, a devilish sparkle in his pale grey eyes.

          "Last time it ended with you teaching me a lesson," she replied, a blush rising in her cheeks. It had been a lesson in desire. He'd wanted her to know the emotion so if she was ever kissed again, she would know how it felt. He'd told her never to settle for a man she didn't desire … and she could feel it every time she was in his presence, desire for him and him alone. But desire wasn't enough to make a good match. It was a start, but not a basis upon which to build a life. She did want to marry and have a family of her own, but not with a rogue such as him. He would surely break her heart.

          Jefferson took a sip of the chocolate Mrs. Green set before him and licked the cream from his lip, his eyes never leaving Emma's, wanting to see her reaction. Her breath caught in her throat and her eyes darkened with desire. Yep, she still wanted him, he thought with a satisfied smile.

          "No lessons, sweetheart. Just an innocent cup of chocolate with my friend."

          "Since when are we friends," Emma scoffed. "You've never been anything but disdainful and condescending to me, Jefferson Madden. You never gave me a chance to be your friend."

          Emma absently stuck her finger into the whipped cream floating atop her cup of chocolate and sucked it into her mouth. Jefferson groaned inwardly and felt his groin tighten with lust. He knew if he kissed her, she'd taste like chocolate and cream. He wanted to drag her onto his lap and suck the cream right from her tongue.  _Change the bloody subject, idiot!_  He scolded himself.  _Think of something else. Anything else. Just stop thinking of taking her upstairs and —_

          "Brat! I've been your friend since I rescued you at Sheffield from Wendell. Do you think I would've done that for just anyone?" he asked, rising from the stool to stand before the hearth. Maybe the heat of the fire would warm him and at the same time cool his passion.

          "Well, you don't act like I'm your friend," she retorted, pursing her lips. "You are a very confusing man, Jefferson."

          "Drink your chocolate."

          He wasn't watching to see what she did. He couldn't bear the thought of all that blasted whipped cream, and the fire wasn't helping to distract him. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asked softly, shoving his hands deep in the pockets of his buff breeches.

          "About what?"

          "Your parents," he said, his voice little more than a whisper.

          Emma blanched. She hadn't wanted to talk about her parents with anyone, nor did she want anyone to know what she was feeling. Why did she feel she could confide in him? "What do you want to know?"

          "Only what you want to tell me, rabbit," he murmured in an affectionate tone. "You don't have to talk about them if you don't wish to. I just know that it was somehow better when my father died and I had Robbie to talk to," he revealed.

          "Really? Is that how you and Robert became friends? I know he lost his father around the same time, right?" she asked, moving to his side and placing a hand on his arm.

          The muscles in Jefferson's forearm tightened at her light touch. "Yes, Robbie and I both lost our fathers before beginning school at Eton. Both of us had just inherited the weight of our titles, and I didn't give a damn about anything at the tender age of thirteen. Robbie took everything as his own personal mission at which he must succeed. Far too serious, he was," Jefferson said, remembering the trouble they'd gotten into at school. "He's a good friend, closer than if we'd been born brothers."

          Emma sat on the hearth, letting the fire warm her. "I miss my father so much, Jefferson," she whispered, a tear escaping her eye. "But I feel so guilty all the time."

          Jefferson sat next to her and enveloped her hand in both of his. "Why? You had nothing to do with what happened."

          She raised her tear-bright eyes to his. "Because when I think of my mother, all I feel is the overwhelming sense of freedom. Free of her tantrums and her machinations and her matchmaking. I'm a horrible person," she cried. Jefferson wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. "I should be thinking of how much I loved her, how much I needed her in my life. But instead all I can think is that I'm finally free."

          Jefferson held her, letting her cry as Mrs. Green went about her duties preparing dinner for the Gold family. He tightened his arms about her, and as he did, he felt her claw her way into his heart. Not much, but just enough to know he didn't want her to suffer this pain. He hadn't been lying; he did want to be her friend. He wanted to be her companion, her lover. Jefferson closed his eyes against the warmth spreading through him at that thought. And just as quickly, his mother's sneering face flashed across his mind's eye and he stiffened.

          "W-What's wrong, Jefferson?" Emma asked, her head resting in the curve of his neck.

          "Nothing, sweetheart," he said, rising to his feet. "Why don't you go on upstairs and prepare for dinner?"

          Emma nodded and rose to her feet. "Thank you," she whispered, brushing her lips to his jaw.

          "For what?"

          "Listening and not judging me," she answered softly.

          "You have nothing to be ashamed of, Emma. Everything happens for a reason, or so Belle is always saying. Maybe this was just the only way you could escape. Maybe this was your one chance to be free."

 

*.*.*

 

          Emma pondered Jefferson's parting words as she descended the stairs to join the family for dinner. He said she shouldn't feel guilty about her feelings for her mother. Regina hadn't been mother of the year, that's for sure. She paused on the bottom step. Jefferson had said he was her friend. Did that mean no more lessons? No more disparaging remarks? No more kisses and chocolate in the kitchen? Is that what she really wanted?

          Emma shook her head to banish such inappropriate thoughts and joined Belle and Robert as they left the parlor and made their way to the dining room.

          "Emma, I'm so glad you decided to join us this evening," Belle said warmly, linking arm with hers. "You've been cooped up in your room too much of late. Feeling better?"

          "A little," she murmured, allowing Robert to seat her at the table. Emma did a mental count and realized Jefferson was missing. "Where's Jefferson? I thought he would be joining us."

          Belle shot Robert and I-told-you-so look and placed her napkin in her lap. Robert raised a brow at Belle, his crooked smile bringing a blush to Belle's cheeks. Emma frowned thoughtfully. Sometimes she wondered if they were having their own private conversation without saying a word.

          "I believe he said something about having dinner at the club," Robert answered. "He's never in a sociable mood when he returns from Rochefort."

          "Then why does he go?" she asked, hoping to gain a bit of insight where the earl was concerned.

          "Because he doesn't trust anyone with the books. He'll go once a month to manage his accounts and then he'll return to London or to Sheffield. Always in a sour mood, I might add," Robert remarked as he cut into the roast beef on his plate.

          "Emma, how would you like to go Christmas shopping with me tomorrow? I have a few last minute gifts I need to purchase," Belle said. "Robbie, stop scowling at me. It's only money."

          "That doesn't mean there's an endless supply," he grumbled.

          "Tightwad."

          "I'm only teasing, darling," Robert winked. "We don't have to worry about going broke. I have quite the knack for investing."

          Belle winced at the mention of going broke. She glanced up at Emma, but she didn't seem to have heard. "Emma? Emma?"

          Robert reached over and laid a hand over Emma's. "Are you alright, m'dear? Belle asked you a question."

          Emma started at Robert's innocent touch. She'd been so lost in thought she hadn't been paying much attention. "I'm sorry, Belle."

          "Its fine, cousin. I asked if you wanted to go shopping."

          Emma smiled tentatively, wondering if she could perhaps purchase something for Jefferson. He himself had said he was her friend, and since he would no doubt be spending the holiday with them here at the townhouse, she could give him a gift without him reading too much into it. Couldn't she?

          "Yes, Belle, that would be nice. I might have one or two gifts to buy also."

          "Wonderful. We'll leave after breakfast. I'm so happy you're going to join us, Emma. You need to get out and get some fresh air," Belle said as the dessert course was being served. "Robert, shame on you."

          "What?" he asked innocently.

          "Emma, you'll have to excuse us." Belle took Robert's dessert and slid it onto her own plate, rising from the table with a hot look directed at her husband.

          Emma watched Belle leave the dining room, Robert trailing casually behind her. "Abby? What is it about éclairs that send those two running?"

          Abigail cleared her throat and blushed. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean, Emma."

**A/N:** Well, I hope you've enjoyed the first chapter, dearies. Robbie and Belle will be playing an integral part in this story, so fear not, there will be Rumbelle goodness as well as our Madswan. Thank you all so much for the response on Éclairs and Chocolate Kisses. I hope you equally enjoy this tale. I look forward to your comments, good or bad (o:


	2. Chapter 2

          Jefferson slouched back into his favorite arm chair at the gentlemen's club he and Robert frequented and swirled the scotch in his glass. The footman had looked at him rather cheekily when he'd ordered the expensive liquor instead of his usual coffee. It was nine o'clock in the morning, after all. Quite early in the day to be imbibing in his favorite alcohol. He rubbed a hand wearily over his eyes and sighed. Not a wink of sleep, and he was feeling the effects, but every time he'd closed his eyes, he would see her … Lady Emma Morrison with her beautiful tear-bright eyes and lovely pursed lips. What was he going to do about her?

          Why could he think of nothing but their one brief kiss months before? He'd thought of it many times while he'd been at Rochefort going over the accounts, the memory distracting him more than once. Now he was lying awake, day dreaming of taking her to his bed. And there would be more than a kiss involved if he had his way. But she was an innocent. He couldn't just take her off and enjoy her and then send her on her merry way. No, he'd have to marry her and that was something he couldn't do.

          Now his best friend in the world was Emma's ward. He wondered if Robert would be so understanding if something happened between he and Emma. It could put a definite strain on their friendship. Robert would probably invite him into the ring to have that conversation. Jefferson shuddered. He himself was no slouch in the boxing ring, but he was nowhere the pugilist Robert was. Maybe he  _should_  get in the ring with Robert. A split lip would be a nice reminder to keep his lips off the delectable Lady Morrison.

          As if thinking about him conjured him out of thin air, Robert entered the club and dropped into the chair opposite Jefferson. "What's going on with you, Jeff? First you missed dinner with the family last night and then breakfast again this morning. And you're drinking before lunch?" the duke asked, eyeing him suspiciously. "Who is she?"

          Jefferson shrugged. "Sorry, Robbie. I have a lot on my mind, and I didn't sleep well." He refused to answer the latter part of that loaded question and barely refrained from choking on his scotch. Leave it to Robert to see right through the bullshit.

          "I'd be willing to bet you haven't had anything to eat, either," Robert said, taking the cup of coffee offered to him by the footman. "Since when are you not shoveling food into your gullet?"

          Jefferson raised a brow. "Here's a better question for you. How is it you're not with the wife? This is the first time you've been to the club in how long?"

          "Beside the point," Robert grumbled and added sugar to his coffee. "She and Emma are off shopping for last minute gifts. And, by the way, you are not getting out of spending the holiday with us."

          Jefferson perked up at the mention of Emma. "How was she this morning?"

          "Belle's fine. Irritable as all hell, but her health is good, the doctor assures me."

          "Emma. Remember her?" Jefferson asked with an amused sigh. "She was crying her eyes out just yesterday in the garden."

          "Oh." Robert grinned sheepishly. Of course, his first thought would be of his wife. "Emma seemed to be in good spirits when they left. Mother said she was relieved Emma wanted to get out of the house. She has been keeping to her room for the better part of six months. Just don't understand the abrupt change in her, though I have to admit an end to her melancholy is more than welcome."

          Jefferson had a good idea of what may have drawn her out, but wasn't about to share that information with Robert. It was private. She'd opened up to him and finally released some of the guilt she'd been bottling up inside her. She would be able to heal and move on with her life. A life without him. Why was that thought so depressing … and maybe a little distressing as well?

          "Speaking of Emma," Robert continued. "I won't be arranging a marriage for her, but that doesn't mean she doesn't need to marry. The dear girl will be nineteen next month. She needs to settle down and have a family."

          Jefferson's hand tightened around the glass he held. "She still has plenty of time, and I'm sure Belle likes having her around," he said stiffly.

          "She does at that," Robert muttered thoughtfully. "I, of course, will settle a sizable dowry on her. I think I might include that lovely little estate in Northumberland I just had renovated. Belle doesn't like the cold, so there's a good chance we'll never have use for that particular property."

          Jefferson's mouth gaped open. "The estate in Northumberland can hardly be considered little. It's damn near the same size as Sheffield," he sputtered.

          "Exactly. She'll be married off in no time a’tall," Robert said, draining his cup. He knew Jefferson had been trying to relieve him of that property for the better part of ten years. Belle was convinced the earl was the perfect match for Emma, that she could feel it. Who was he to argue? He just had to play his part in this to help them on their road to happiness.

          "Yeah, to a bloody gold digger!" he growled, outraged Robert would stoop to such a tactic. "They'll be coming out of the woodwork. You can't do that to her."

          "Do what? I'll be quite selective as to whom I consider. I'm not going to let her marry anyone I don't approve of," Robert insisted.

          Jefferson was too agitated now to sit still. He tossed the scotch back and set the glass on the table next to him, rising angrily to his feet. "Well, I hope you have the decency to take her feelings into account. She might choose someone completely unsuitable. And knowing Belle," he dropped his tone to a whisper. "With her gift, she'll try to talk you into letting Emma marry the blighter."

          Robert chuckled. "Where are you going?" he asked, more than pleased at Rochefort's little display of jealousy.

          "To see just what the darling girl has to say on the subject," Jefferson snarled, stalking out of the club and bounding into his carriage, shouting directions to his driver.

 

*.*.*

 

          "No, no, no, milady," Mr. Peers chastised once again. "You must start on the left foot."

          Emma grinded her teeth together in frustration and counted to ten. These dance lessons had been Belle's bright idea when she'd discovered Emma had all the grace of a rampaging Rhino on the dance floor. So, it was a great relief to her when the ballroom door banged open and Jefferson barged in. She took in his appearance, noting the deep frown. He was furious and that anger was directed at her.

          "Out!" he ordered her dance instructor.

          "Milord, this is highly inappropriate. Her Grace asked me to instruct Lady Morrison in the art of the waltz to ready her for the ball tomorrow night," Mr. Peers protested in his nasal whine.

          Jefferson grabbed the little man by his cravat and pulled him close to his face, his eyes full of menace. "If you don't get out, you won't ever have to worry about dance instruction again, little man," he whispered. "Because I'll break both your bloody legs," he continued, his tone rising on each word until it echoed through the room.

          Mr. Peers left the room at a fast trot, Emma noted. She turned on Jefferson with a raised brow. "And just what was that about, milord?"

          "What ball?" he asked at the same time. "And you can cease with that  _milord_  crap."

          Emma frowned at him in confusion. What was he so irritated about and why did she feel it was somehow her fault? "The Countess of Grandville's annual Christmas Eve masque. Did you forget?" she asked, completely ignoring his other complaint.

          Jefferson raked his hand through his short hair. "No, I was just surprised you would be going."

          "Belle wants me to go. She says I'm not going to find a husband sitting at home and that the Grandville ball will be a perfect opportunity to look over potential suitors. Robbie has quite unceremoniously cut my mourning period short," Emma explained, a note of bitterness tinging her voice. "After all, I can't expect to impose on my family forever. I need to marry."

          Jefferson knew she was right, but the prospect of every gold digger in London chasing after her for her dowry left a nasty taste in his mouth. "I'll escort you tomorrow night."

          "I beg your pardon?" she asked in surprise.

          "Don't look so shocked, little rabbit. When news of the immense dowry Robbie has settled on you reaches the  _ton_ , all manner of riff raff will be breaking down the door with flowers and candy trying to woo a yes from your sweet lips," he bit out sourly.

          "Why, Jefferson, you actually sound like you care."

          Jefferson cleared his throat, uncomfortable with the turn in the conversation. "What are friends for, love? Have to make sure to keep the rogues and bounders away from you."

 _Like you?_ Emma smiled warmly. "It will be lovely to have you escort me and offer your protection. Thank you."

          Jefferson wasn't prepared for the quick kiss she placed on his cheek. His eyes darkened and his jaw tightened from the pleasure of it. How could an innocent kiss inspire such desire? It wasn't full of passion like the one they'd shared before, but it still had the same effect.

          "Now can I please continue with the dance lesson? Apparently, Belle seems to think I dance rather like my mother," she grimaced.

          "Perish the thought," he shuddered, remembering his aching feet after having danced with Lady Regina. "I shall assist you."

          Emma cast him a sideways glance through her narrowed emerald eyes. "I don't know. I don't want to damage your toes."

          "I've danced with you before."

          "Yes, but you were scolding me at the time and didn't notice I was trodding all over your toes," she said with a painful smile. "I don't think this is a good idea."

          Jefferson held his arms open to her and waved his hand for her to come forward. "Come on, Emma."

          "Jefferson, I —"

          He ignored her protests and pulled her into his arms, holding firm to her hand and sliding the other around her waist, much lower than he normally would. Emma's breath caught in her throat as he pulled her close to his chest.

          "Chin up, rabbit. Look at me, not at your feet," he instructed and began humming the tune to a waltz. "On three."

          On the count of three, Jefferson stepped forward with his left foot and Emma immediately crushed his toes with the heel of her right. "I'm so sorry. I forgot. I know I'm supposed to step with the left foot first."

          Jefferson limped to a nearby bench and sat down, pulling his boot off to inspect his injured toes. Emma knelt at his feet and took his foot in her hand, rubbing away the hurt. Jefferson stiffened at her gentle touch, watching her nimble fingers ease the ache from his toes. He wanted to reach out and lift her onto his lap and let her ease another ache. He shook his head to clear his wayward thoughts and removed his foot from her lap.

          "Take your shoes off, Emma," he commanded in a hoarse whisper. "If you don't have those sharp little shoes on, it won't matter how many times you step on my toes."

          "You don't have to do this, Jefferson. I can just as easily ask Mr. Peers to resume his instruction," she argued, slipping her shoes off and placing them on the bench next to him.

          "I want to," he said softly, more than a little surprised to realize it was true. He wanted her in his arms, the feel of her pressed tightly against his chest his greatest desire … even if it was something as innocent as a dance.

          Emma stepped into his arms once more, shivering from the contact of her breasts pressing into his chest. She shouldn't let him hold her so closely. She knew she'd never let another dance partner take such liberty, but this was Jefferson, the man she desired and could never have. Why shouldn't she enjoy the moment with him? She looked up into his eyes and felt the desire he'd introduced her to so many months ago, her lips parting on a tiny gasp.

          "Don't eat me with your eyes, Emma. Not unless you want me to take you to my bed," he warned, his own eyes mirroring the passion in hers. He was a cad for saying such things to her, but he couldn't help himself. The way her lips parted on a stunned gasp and the rosy blush which rose in her alabaster cheeks made it all worth his while.

          Jefferson didn't give her a chance to respond as he began to hum. Emma remembered to step with her left and was able to follow him as he turned about the room. She was beginning to get dizzy, but whether from the twirling or his closeness, she couldn't be sure. He leaned close to her, his breath teasing the tendrils near her ear which had escaped the pins and she missed a step. Jefferson stepped to avoid crushing her toes with his booted feet and stumbled, taking her to the floor. He turned his body so that she landed neatly atop him, breaking her fall.

          He laid his head back against the polished wood floor and grinned up at Emma. She returned his smile, her hands splayed against his chest. "Well, let's not do that tomorrow evening at the masque. Don't think Lady Grandville would approve," he teased.

          "I'm so sorry. Did I hurt you?" she asked, her voice catching as he moved his hips beneath her.

          Jefferson held her gaze as he cupped her face in his hands, his touch gentle. "No, sweetheart, you didn't hurt me." He urged her closer until her lips were almost touching his. "Are you hurt?" he asked, his eyes heavily-lidded with desire, his voice a mere whisper.

          "N-No, I had a soft landing," she said, her eyes lowering to his mouth. She wanted so badly to close the gap between their lips, and wondered if he would push her away, or if he would give in and kiss her again.

          "Tell me what you want, love," he demanded, his hands moving into her hair, pins scattering across the floor.

          Emma licked her lips, her mouth gone dry with the emotions welling up inside her. "I want —"

          "Want what?" he coaxed.

          But he wasn't destined to discover what she would've said as a voice intruded into the silence of the ballroom. "Emma!" Belle shouted. "What happened?"

          Emma scrambled to her feet and stared wide-eyed at Belle. "I'm sorry, cousin, we fell. It was an a-accident," she stammered breathlessly, making excuses as to why she was lying atop the Earl of Rochefort.

          "Jefferson?" Belle asked a bit dubiously, her brow arching in suspicion.

          Jefferson pulled himself up off the floor to stand next to Emma, taking her hand in his. "I will see you tomorrow night, milady." He stopped next to Belle and kissed her cheek before exiting the ballroom, whistling a merry tune.

          "Emma, what is going on between you and Jefferson?" Belle asked, suspicion and ill-concealed delight clouding her voice.

          Emma looked away guiltily and moved to the bench to retrieve her shoes. "Nothing, Belle. Jefferson was teaching me how to waltz and he tripped over my big feet. When he fell, he pulled me down with him. It was all very innocent." Emma hated lying to her cousin after all she'd done for her, but she didn't want anyone to know how she felt about Jefferson Madden. At least until she herself knew for certain.

          "Hmm," Belle murmured thoughtfully. "And what was that about tomorrow night?"

          "Jefferson is escorting me to the Grandville masque. He's afraid once news of my dowry reaches the  _ton's_  ears, I'll be in need of his protection."

          Belle watched her cousin flounce from the room, a satisfied smile etched on her lips.  _Yes, my dear Emma, but who will protect you from Jefferson?_

 

*.*.*

 

 _What is_ she  _doing here?_

_What is she doing here with Rochefort?_

_You mean you haven't heard?_

_Sheffield is marrying her off. He's settled an enormous dowry on her._

_She's going to be the most sought-after woman in England._

_But to be out and about so soon after her parents’ untimely deaths._

_Scandalous!_

_Did you hear her dowry includes the ducal estate in Northumberland?_

_You don't say!_

_Heard it from Sheffield himself._

_My word!_

          Jefferson ground his teeth together and tucked Emma's hand in the crook of his arm, leading her around the ballroom. He'd known this was going to happen the moment they entered the Grandville ballroom. Gossiping harpies, he thought with disgust. And of course, not one of them would dare give Emma the  _cut-direct_  while she was on his arm. He could feel her tension as they strolled around the room, tension which was a hare's breath from becoming full blown panic.

          "Relax, rabbit," he whispered near her ear. "You look beautiful."

          Emma glanced down at the ivory ball gown she was wearing and smoothed her hand over the skirt. Belle had chosen it for this evening, and she had excellent taste. Emma was looking forward to when she married so she could dispense with the pastels. She wanted to wear the deeper darker colors the matrons of the  _ton_  favored. Bridgette, her maid had piled her hair atop her head in artful ringlets and a matching domino covered her face.

          Jefferson led her to the dance floor and swung her into his arms. "Smile, Emma. Remember that everyone is watching."

          “No pressure there.” Emma pasted a false smile onto her lips, that artful smile her mother had taught her.  _Always smile, my dear. No matter how much pain you might be experiencing, never let them see your weakness._  But her eyes showed everything she felt. Jefferson squeezed her hand reassuringly.

          "Left."

          Emma stepped with her left foot and followed Jefferson's lead. "I hate this, Jefferson. I want to go home."

          Jefferson winced as she missed a step and crunched his big toe, continuing without pause. "You'll be alright, Emma. I promise not to leave your side."

          She could feel the eyes boring into her. Her heart was beating a rapid tempo, distracting her from the concentration required to follow her partner across the floor. She was a bundle of nerves and she felt as though she would collapse in a heap of ivory silk at any moment.

          "Emma, look at me," Jefferson hissed against her ear, his tone harsh. Certainly not what she'd come to expect from him.

          Emma raised her eyes to his and he could see the panic reflected there. He pulled her closer until her breasts were pressed into his chest. She forgot to breathe. Her eyes moved to his lips, desire replacing the panic in her deep green gaze. Jefferson breathed a sigh of relief as he felt her relax into him.

          "Better?"

          "C-Compared to what?" she asked, her voice husky with the new emotion. "Oh, this was such a bad idea."

          "You can do this, rabbit. One dance and then you can sit and hold court just like the little princess you are," he murmured condescendingly. "And I get to stand back and play chaperone."

          Panic returned with a vengeance at his words and she missed another step. Jefferson groaned and pulled her tighter. "I'm beginning to think you're doing this on purpose."

          "What?" she asked, her breathing becoming uneven and broken as a new wave of desire washed over her.

          "I think you're smashing my toes deliberately so —"

          "I am not," she protested.

          "-- I’ll hold you tighter," he finished with a devilish grin. "I think you're right where you want to be." His voice dropped to a hoarse whisper, dark with promise. "I think you enjoy being in my arms."

          "I-I feel safe with you, Jefferson," she answered, trying to see his eyes behind the black domino he wore.

          "Oh, Emma, I'm the last person in the world you should feel safe with."

          "Why?"

          "Because right now you're eating me with your eyes and all I can think about is —"

          "What?"

          "-how you'll look at me when you're lying beneath me in my bed," he whispered softly, watching with satisfaction as her lips parted on a gasp.

          "Jefferson," she began, collecting her thoughts. "You can't say such things to me. You've made it quite clear you don't ever plan to marry, and you know that I must." She was angry now. Angry she couldn't have the one man she desired.  _Stubborn ass!_  she thought as he led her off the dance floor.

          Jefferson led her to an empty chair to the right of the dance floor and dropped a kiss on her hand. "I won't be but a moment," he promised and left in search of refreshments. He hadn't felt the need to argue with her about marriage. He wouldn't condemn her to the stigma of his birth, but that didn't mean he wouldn't attempt to seduce her. It was becoming a burning need in him to possess her. He couldn't even bloody well dance with her without wanting her. He smiled to himself as he plucked two glasses of champagne from the tray on the refreshment table and carried them back to where he'd left her.

 _Holy hell!_  The wolves were circling and jockeying for position, crowded around her and obscuring her from Jefferson's view. He'd only been gone for a moment, but they'd seen it as a prime opportunity to curry favor with Emma. Jefferson drained his glass and deposited it on a passing tray, stepping forward through the throng to hand Emma the other.

          "Make way, you lot," he commanded, scowling at Lord Newberry and Lord Wascom. He should've known those two would be among the suitors. He handed Emma her champagne and leaned down to whisper, "Are you alright?"

          Emma nodded, that same false smile pasted on her lips. "A bit overwhelmed, but I should be fine," she assured him.

          Jefferson moved around the chair to stand just behind her, there to lend his assistance should anything get out of hand. He didn't like this one bit. She was still grieving for her parents and here Robert and Belle had sent her out amongst the wolves to find a husband, a husband only interested in one thing, her dowry. They were no better than Regina, he thought in disgust. No, not quite that bad. They wanted what was best for her and he was being selfish, wanting to keep her all to himself.

          He hailed a passing servant and asked for Grandville's best scotch. Rubbing his hand over his domino to relieve the pressure behind his eyes, his watchful gaze fell on Malcolm Wendell as he moved into the crowd to greet Emma. Jefferson tensed, wondering why the man couldn't take the hint. He stepped in front of Emma and blocked his path.

          "Can I help you with something, Wendell?" Jefferson asked, his deep voice full of menace.

          Lord Wendell drew back in vexation. "Not at all, Rochefort. Just wanted to offer my condolences to Lady Morrison."

          "She's busy."

          "I'm certain she can spare a moment or two," Wendell insisted, attempting to step around Jefferson.

          "I said no," Jefferson asserted, stepping into his path once more.

          Wendell's composure faltered and his face took on a reddish tint in his anger. "What are you, now, Rochefort? Her watchdog? Her suitor?" he sneered.

          Jefferson's eyes narrowed on the smaller man. "I'm her friend and escort. Just think of me as her protector, Wendell, sworn to guard her against miscreants such as yourself."

          Emma slipped her hand into his and squeezed gently. "Jefferson, I find it rather warm in here. Might we take a stroll in the garden?" she asked, diffusing the confrontation before it escalated into a scene for the gossip mill.

          Jefferson looked down at her anxious smile and felt the anger drain from him. "Of course, milady," he said softly and turned his back on Wendell, leading her though the open French doors.

          "Want to tell me what's going on with you and Wendell? It seems you two can't be in the same room without nearly coming to blows."

          Jefferson led her down the garden path, removing the black domino from his face and rubbing a hand over his eyes. "Let's just say I don't care for his character."

          Emma removed her own mask and let it dangle from her free hand. "You mean there's more to it than him being a lecherous toad?"

          His frown deepened, casting his shadowed features into stark relief. "He was at school with me and Robbie. He and Killian had the room next to ours and we were all friends, more or less."

          "Killian?" she asked curiously, never having heard him talk about his other friends.

          "Lord Killian St. James, Earl Easterly. He disappeared in the war after his ship went down. Bloody shame, too. He was a good friend," Jefferson said, lost in thought.

          "And what of Wendell? It doesn't look as though you two were ever friends."

          Jefferson sighed, his brows drawing together darkly. "I don't want to tell you the details and frighten you, Emma. Just know he doesn't have a  _healthy_  appreciation for women."

          Emma shared his frown, wondering what Wendell could be capable of. "What does that even mean, Jeff? He hurts them?"

          "Yes, rabbit. Hurt is a relatively mild word for how he treats them. I don't want him anywhere near you," Jefferson said, turning and grabbing her upper arms. "I don't ever want you to be alone with that man. Promise me."

          "I pr-promise," she stammered, frightened by the vehemence in his voice.

Jefferson drew her into his embrace, resting his chin atop her hair. "I don't want you to be hurt, Emma. I don't know if I will always be there to see to your protection and I couldn't bear it if you were harmed."

          Emma pressed her face to his neck, seeking his warmth, his closeness. He had her pressed tightly to his chest, cocooned in his arms and she could feel the desire stirring within her. "Why, Jefferson? Because I'm your friend?"

          Jefferson swallowed against the knot which formed in his throat. "Yes, because I'm your friend, Emma."

          "You don't treat me like your friend, Jefferson," she said softly, her hands moving up his chest to twine about his neck. "You want —"

          "What do I want, little rabbit?" he asked, cupping her face in his large hands.

          "I don't know," she answered honestly, dropping her hands to his arms and looking up into his smoky gaze. "Why don't you tell me? Because no matter how much I try to understand you, I can't."

          "What do you want to hear, Emma?" he asked, brushing his lips across hers with a feather light touch. "Do you want to hear how I can't get you out of my head? That no matter how much I drink to wash the image of you from my mind, I can't forget how beautiful you were that night in the kitchen with desire shining in your eyes?" Jefferson brushed his lips to hers once more, catching her lower lip between his own. "Do you want to hear about how much I want to taste you again?"

          Emma couldn't move with his hands cupping her face, one thought prevalent in her mind. She wanted to be closer. She knew he was seducing her with his words, but she didn't care. She was overwhelmed with the desire he was making her feel. She wanted him to kiss her as he'd done before, burning her with his touch.

          "Yes," she whispered against his lips, her breath mingling with his.

          Jefferson dropped his hands from her face and stepped back, taking a deep breath of the cold night air. What the _hell_ was he doing? This was Emma Morrison, whom he'd vowed to protect, not seduce. He was to see that she found a husband, not a lover. And he was the worst of the wolves here at the Grandville masque.

          "I'm sorry," Jefferson apologized, raking a hand through his hair. "Emma, I didn't mean —"

          Emma lowered her eyes so he couldn't see the hurt there and fumbled with her mask. "You didn't mean to make me want you again? You seem to be making a habit of that lately," she bit out with a choked laugh. "I do hope you make up your mind soon."

          "About what?"

          "About what you really want," she said in little more than a whisper and left him standing there in the middle of the garden.

          "Well. Just. Shit!" he cursed. He watched her return to the ballroom, knowing he needed to follow. The more time he spent in her company, the more he wanted her. He wanted her in his bed, in his house and in his life. He wanted to shield her in his arms from the Lord Wendell's of the world. He wanted to make her feel loved and wanted her love in return. But he couldn't offer her his name.

          The alternative, however, was unthinkable. He'd have to stand by and watch her choose a husband. He didn't know if he could live with the thought of someone else touching her, stirring her passions and taking her to their bed. Jefferson was beginning to think of her as his and the thought of another touching her left a sick knot in his stomach.

          Jefferson returned to the ballroom and growled at a footman to bring him a bottle of scotch and a glass, pulling a chair against the wall with a clear view of Emma's  _court_. Bloody asses! And of course, she was charming and lovely to each and every one of them, like the true lady she was. He'd drunk his way through half the bottle before he felt it necessary to cut in on Lord Newberry as he twirled Emma about the dance floor.

          "Jefferson, you're drunk!" Emma hissed into his ear. He was holding her too close and everyone was staring, but he didn't seem to care.

          "I'll have you know, rabbit, I don't even have a slight buzz." He spun her about, not missing a step. "If I was drunk, I would've tossed you over my shoulder and carried you out of here already. See? Restraint. Don't have so much of that when I'm drunk."

          Emma blanched, the color draining from her face. "What are you playing at now, Jefferson? You're going to cause a scene. For someone who never wants to marry, you're doing a fine job of ruining my reputation."

          "Not to worry, my darling. Robbie wouldn't have allowed you out of the house on my arm if he didn't trust me to be on my best behavior," he said, drawing her closer until she was pressed tightly to his chest.

          "You're being a brute, Jefferson."

          "But you love me anyway, rabbit," he returned, enjoying their banter.

          The breath caught in her chest and she looked up into his eyes for the first time to catch the wicked gleam there.  _Uh-oh! Most definitely drunk and in a lustful mood._  "Jefferson, we need to leave. _Now_."

          "The dance isn't over," he whispered against her ear, making her shiver. They'd made another circuit of the dance floor when he asked, "Why is it you only tremble for me, Emma?"

_Oh, my God! Now is not the time for one of his passionate speeches._

          Emma decided to see if she could shock him sober. "Because, Jefferson Madden, you are the man I want. I tremble with passion for  _you_ and no one else. You awakened these feelings of desire and want and need in me, yet you don't have the courage to claim me for yourself. It's your touch I want to feel, your lips I want to kiss, and I'll never have you. Instead, I'm going to have to settle for one of these poor imitations to marry and I'll forever wonder what it would've been like to have  _you_."

          Emma left him there on the dance floor with his mouth gaping open, his brows somewhere near his hairline.  _Good!_ she thought with satisfaction. Of course, everything she'd said had been the truth, but she was certain he'd been so drunk, he wouldn't remember a word of it come morning. She collected her cloak and had a footman bring the carriage around to take her back to the townhouse. She wouldn't leave him stranded. She would send the carriage back for him, but she couldn't trust herself to share the carriage with him in his present mood. She couldn't trust herself not to give in to his seduction or worse … to seduce  _him_  herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Well well well, what a mess! Emma's coming to realize she shouldn't have to settle for anything less than what she wants, apparently. Poor Jeffy doesn't stand a chance, does he? Next chapter: Emma plays dirty and Jefferson seeks comfort in the snow … or should I say relief? Thanks to all those who reviewed, favorite, kudoed, followed, subscribed and whatnot. Remember, dearies, you are the reason I post every day! Much love! See you tomorrow!


	3. Chapter 3

          Emma yawned loudly at herself in the full-length mirror and pinned a sprig of mistletoe into her hair where she'd pulled it back with a ribbon. She wasn't planning on leaving the house today and no one would be calling on her. It was Christmas day, after all. A day to be spent with one's family.  _And one lusty rake posing as a family friend,_ she thought irritably. Jefferson continued to plague her dreams, causing her to wake several times in the middle of the night to visions of him as he'd held her last night in the garden … and on the dance floor … and in the kitchen months before.

          Emma tossed her hairbrush on the dressing table and smoothed the skirt of her forest green dress – an early gift from her cousin who knew how much Emma despised the pastels she was forced to wear. She was tired of losing sleep over the confounding man. The more time she spent in his presence, the more she wanted him for her husband. It was his own fault with his sexy talk and lovely passionate kisses.

          He'd made her  _want_  something for the first time in her life, something money couldn't buy and something she wanted with all her heart. It wasn't anything her mother was pushing her towards, oh no. This was something Emma wanted for herself without thought of wealth or titles. She didn't want the earl, but the man himself.

          Did she love him? No, she was certain she didn't love him, yet. But she could. So easily could she fall in love with him, if he would just let her.  _What if he just desired her_ , she thought morosely. What if he couldn't love her? Lack of sleep and the scene at the Grandville masque was turning her mood sour. But she knew without the slightest hint of doubt she couldn't settle for another man. Only Rochefort would do.

          Emma stifled another yawn as she slowly made her way down the staircase and entered the parlor. She was sure everyone was at breakfast. She could hear the clatter of dishes and the clink of crystal, but she knew she wouldn't be able to eat this morning. Her stomach was in too much upheaval after spending the better part of the morning worrying Jefferson would remember what she'd said to him last night on the dance floor.  _Please, God, don't let him remember_ , she offered up in prayer.

          The front door opened, and she could hear Rivers offer a greeting. She strained her ear to hear who it might be, but the voices were too low. Instead of dwelling on the unknown visitor, she moved to the French doors leading into the gardens and pulled the curtains back. Snow, thick and heavy fell silently onto the garden path. She hated the snow. It made everything white and dreary. She much preferred the spring when everything was green and full of color, when the flowers bloomed, and the air turned warmer. Well, as warm as one could expect for England.

          Strong arms encircled her waist and she bit her lip to stifle a scream. "Good morning, little rabbit," the voice whispered against her ear, the combination of his warm breath and husky tone sending a shiver of anticipation down her back. "Did you sleep well? Or did you lie awake all night regretting that you can't have me?" Jefferson asked, pulling her back to rest against his chest.

_Bloody hellfire and damnation! Why did he have to remember? He had been sloshed! Now I'm going to have to listen to his sexy innuendos all day long. No escape for me. Belle won't allow me to hide in my room on Christmas. Stupid holiday!_

          His lips moved to the curve of her neck, his teeth nipping the tender flesh. Emma was fine with that. A little playing never really hurt anyone … right? As she was trying to convince herself, Jefferson soothed the bite with his tongue, and she stopped breathing. _Who am I kidding … this is well beyond appropriate!_ "Um —"she stammered, her voice highly pitched.

          Jefferson laughed softly and moved to the other side of her neck, his hands slipping higher, the rough pads of his thumbs brushing the sensitive undersides of her breasts. "Um? Um is good, I suppose." He pressed his lips below her ear, pleased she was once again trembling in his arms.

          She hadn't been the only one to lie awake last night in the grips of a need which nearly consumed her. Her words had played over and over again in his mind. She wanted  _him._   _His_ kiss,  _his_  touch. She trembled with desire for  _him._  He couldn't get her words out of his mind, not even with a case of scotch. He couldn't wait to arrive at the townhouse this morning to see her, thinking if she hadn't left him at the masque, he might've been able to coax her into coming home with him.

          Jefferson's lips trailed over her shoulder along the edge of the lace trimmed velvet and back again to her ear. Emma felt as if she were about to burst into flames, her need was so powerful. "Would you have come home with me last night if I had asked, little rabbit?"

          "N-No," she moaned, her breath catching in her throat.

          "Would you have let me love you, sweetheart?" Jefferson breathed against her ear. "I'll take you there right now, Emma. All you have to do is say yes." His voice was becoming strained with need, one so powerful it left him trembling.

          Emma turned in his arms and kissed the corner of his mouth, wanting more than anything to give him the answer he wanted so badly. But she couldn't. If she really wanted him for her husband, she was going to have to work for him. She was going to have to play just as dirty as she knew he was capable of being.

          "All you have to do, Jefferson, is ask the right question," she whispered against his lips and stepped out of his embrace. Emma flounced to the sofa and sat down to pour herself a cup of tea, disguising her desire behind a mask of indifference. "Tea, Jefferson?"

 _What the bloody hell just happened?_ Jefferson asked himself.  _One minute she's quivering with unbridled desire in my arms and the next she's asking if I want tea?!_  He closed his gaping mouth and ran a hand through his hair. The right question? Oh, he knew all too well what question she wanted to hear.  _She can bloody well forget it!_

          "Yes, Emma. Tea would be lovely; absolutely bloody fantastic," he said dryly. He sat down next to her on the sofa and accepted the cup she offered, her smile seeming to irritate him even more. That, on top of his magnificent hangover and raging need, only soured his mood more.

          "Would you like me to see if Abby will let you have one of her headache powders?" she asked sweetly, sipping her tea.

          "No."

          "It might help."

          "No."

          "Are you always this stubborn?" Emma asked quietly. There was no reason to raise her voice and aggravate his already pounding head. It was a testament of her growing feelings for him that she didn't want to cause him undue pain.

          "Yes," he grumbled irritably. "One more thing we have in common."

          Emma grinned at him over her cup. "Really? You think I'm stubborn?"

          Jefferson pierced her with his smoky grey gaze. "Let's see, um, yeah! You want me and have admitted it, yet you won't let me take you to my bed," he complained, taking her hand in his and rubbing her palm with his thumb. Emma's eyes darkened and the cup in her other hand began to shake. "See?" he whispered, moving closer to her on the sofa. "You do want me, don't you, Emma?"

          "I do want you, Jefferson. I meant every word I said to you last night, and all you have to do is ask the right question," she purred silkily, her face inches from his. He pulled away and set his tea cup back on the tray. She could feel him pulling away from her in more than the physical sense as he released her hand.

          The earl rose from the sofa to pace before the blazing fire in the hearth. "I can't marry you, Emma," he said softly, hoping she couldn't detect the hint of sorrow in his voice.

          "And I can't go to bed with you, Jefferson," she returned with equal calm.  _Stubborn ass!_ she thought miserably.

          Jefferson looked just as miserable as Emma was feeling as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his buff breeches and stared into the fire.

 

*.*.*

 

          Robert Gold snatched the cup of eggnog out of Belle's hands and set it on the coffee table. "Might not want to drink that, love. Jefferson's spiked it with scotch."

          Abigail shot a fulminating glare in Jefferson's direction which he shrugged off. "Jefferson David Paul Madden! Why do I have to scold you year after year? Every Christmas you ruin the eggnog where you and Robbie are the only ones who get to enjoy it."

          Jefferson handed a glass to Emma. "Emma gets to enjoy it this year," he drawled with a mischievous grin. His spirited little rabbit took the cup from him, her fingertips brushing his hand. His grin vanished, his eyes darkening at her innocent touch. This was really getting out of hand. He sat down on the sofa next to her and took her hand in his, folding her skirt over their entwined fingers so as not to draw the attention of the family.

          She glared at him from the corner of her eye and tried to wrench her hand away to no avail, his grip vise-like. One corner of his mouth curled up into a lazy grin and his pressed his thumb into her palm, drawing slow feather-light circles across the sensitive flesh. Her eyes closed as she prayed for the strength not to betray either of them, her tongue darting out to wet her bottom lip.

          Belle accepted a cup of tea from Robert and settled back on the opposite sofa in the comfort of her husband's arms. He looked like he was about to fall asleep. "Robbie, you can't fall asleep before we open presents."

          "Sorry, sweetheart. Stuffed from dinner," he said with a yawn.

          "Robbie, did you have the gifts delivered to the orphanage?" Abigail asked, absently sipping her tea.

          "Yes, Mother. Henderson delivered them this morning."

          "And did you make a donation?"

          "Yes, Mother."

          Jefferson ignored them and laid his head on the back of the sofa. "Aren't you going to drink your eggnog, Emma?" he asked, his voice a soft caress. "It's quite good this year." His thumb continued to circle her palm and he could tell it was starting to affect her if her darkening eyes were any indication.

          Emma lifted the cup to her lips and took a hearty sip, reveling in the warmth as it spread through her. "Yes, quite," she agreed softly, her gaze on his mouth.

          Jefferson leaned closer to her. "You're eating me with your eyes again, love," he whispered so only she could hear.

          And Belle. " _Jefferson!"_ straight into his head she projected the thought, causing him to wince. He straightened next to Emma and raised a brow at the duchess. Out loud she said, "Jefferson, why don't you pass out the gifts. Robbie's tired and I think I'd like to rest a while myself."

          Jefferson dutifully rose to his feet and walked over to the giant fir tree which dominated the parlor. He noticed Abigail's tradition of only one gift was still holding true this year. He handed them out and returned to his seat beside Emma. A squeal from Belle drew his attention.

          "Robbie!" Belle threw her arms around Robert's neck and whispered something in his ear. "My favorite!"

          "Goodnight," Robert grinned, taking Belle's hand and leaving the parlor.

          "What was that all about?" Emma asked.

          "Nothing," Jefferson and Abigail said in unison.

          Jefferson smirked in disgust. Robbie must have given Belle another box of chocolates, which would in turn result in hours locked behind the door of their bedroom. It was no wonder Belle was pregnant with as much time as those two spent in that particular room.

          "Thank you, Jefferson, for the lovely pendant," Abigail said, rising from her chair to kiss his cheek. "I will see you tomorrow. You two enjoy the rest of the evening."

          A lovely blush rose in Emma's cheeks as she realized she was quite alone with the earl. She rose from the sofa and walked around to the very back of the tree to retrieve the gift she'd placed there for him. She returned to her seat and placed the box on his lap, ignoring the raised eyebrow he turned on her.

          "What? I can't give my friend a Christmas gift?"

          "Only if you accept one from me," he said, pulling a long flat box from the breast pocket of his jacket and handing it to her.

          "What is it?"

          "Open it, rabbit," he coaxed, untying his cravat and unbuttoning the top two buttons of his shirt. He got up and removed his jacket and moved to the partially open french doors, away from her. It wasn't overly warm in the room, but being in such close proximity to Emma made him feel as though he'd been covered in hot coals. The thought of them alone together, not a chaperone in sight, was indeed a delightful one.

          "Jefferson," she breathed, holding the locket up to the light. "It's beautiful." He'd had it made for her over a month ago, after he couldn't get the thought of their kiss out of his mind. He'd known he wanted to buy something special for her if the occasion ever arose to give it to her. Christmas just happened to come along first. It was just a simple locket with a forget-me-not engraved on one side and an M on the other. M for Morrison.

          He sat down next to her on the sofa once more and took the locket from her trembling hands, opening the clasp. Emma gasped as she stared at the miniature of her father nestled within. Hot tears scalded her face as she held the locket to her chest.

          "I know how much Daniel meant to you. Wanted you to have something to remember him by," Jefferson said sheepishly, drawing the chain around her neck and closing the clasp, the locket nestled between her breasts. "Please don't cry, rabbit."

          Emma couldn't stop the tears coursing down her cheeks, overwhelmed by the thoughtfulness of his gift. "Wh-Where did you get the miniature of my f-father? I thought everything had been lost in the fire."

          "It was with his belongings Robbie found in his office. I thought -" Jefferson pulled her into his lap and tucked her into the crook of his arm against the sofa. He handed her a handkerchief and rested his face against her hair. "I'm so sorry, Emma. I didn't mean to make you cry."

          Like a typical male, he was quite undone by her tears. Emma slipped her hand into his open shirt, her touch cool against the warmth of his chest, and raised her eyes to his. "That is the most - what I mean to say is -no one has ever given me something like this. My parents never hesitated to spoil me with lavish gifts, but no one has ever touched my heart before. Your gift … Jefferson, thank you."

          Emma slid her hands up to his neck and pressed her lips to his, her kiss hesitant, unsure how he would react after her earlier rejection to his advances. He was gentle with her, molding his lips to hers, unwilling to take advantage of her in her grief. It was tender and sweet and filled with the first bloom of love he was still denying he had for her. Jefferson held on to his desire, letting her drive the kiss. He let her take from him, her lips soft and searching.

          "Emma, sweetheart," he said finally, cupping her face in his hands. "You've got to stop. I pride myself on my control, but even I have my limits."

          Emma tried to move off his lap, but Jefferson's hands tightened around her waist. "I thought you wanted me to stop."

          "I didn't say I wanted you to move," he teased with a crooked grin. "I happen to like the way your sweet little behind fits onto my lap, like you were made to be there."

          Emma returned his grin and settled back into his arms. Her eyes fell on the gift she'd given him, still resting on the sofa next to him. "Jefferson, you didn't unwrap your gift," she said, lifting the box and holding it out to him.

          Jefferson nuzzled her neck with his lips, running his tongue over the flesh beneath her ear. "I think I would rather unwrap you." His hand strayed over her hip, squeezing gently. "Would you let me unwrap you, Emma?"

          Emma's lips parted on a gasp, the breath catching in her throat. "I-I th-think you should open your g-gift instead," she stammered, fighting the desire welling inside her.

          Jefferson sighed woefully and removed the hand from her hip to take the box she was holding out to him, tearing off the ribbon and paper and tossing it on the sofa.  _Holy hell! Chocolates._  He quirked a suspicious brow at her.

          "Do you like them?" she asked hopefully. "I was having a difficult time deciding what you might like and Belle suggested chocolates."

 _Belle! Oh, you are in so much bloody trouble. If Robert doesn't put you over his knee for this stunt, I bloody well will!_  He wasn't expecting an answer, but he hoped she heard him regardless. Jefferson took it as a good sign that she didn't answer. Then again, Robert was probably keeping her busy.

          Emma's shoulders drooped with disappointment. "You don't like them."

          "No, rabbit, I do. See?" he assured her, popping a chocolate covered maple cream into his mouth. "Actually, it's quite good."

          Emma beamed at him, relieved he was enjoying his gift. She wasn't expecting him to pop one into her own mouth. He was right, it was very good. "I always wondered why Belle was so obsessed with chocolate. She and Robbie are always running off with a box of chocolates. You never see them  _eat_  the chocolates, but they always have some with them. It's very odd," she mused as she swallowed the last of the treat.

          "I know why. Robbie confided in me exactly why Belle loves chocolate so much," Jefferson told her, his gaze on her lips.

          Emma's heart began to beat a rapid tempo in her chest. "I know I'm probably going to regret asking, but why is that?"

          Jefferson placed the box on the sofa next to him and cupped her face in his hands. "Belle likes the way he tastes after he eats them."

          Emma gasped. "Does she?"

          "Do you want to taste me, Emma?" he asked, brushing his lips to hers. "I want to taste  _you_ , sweetheart. Will you let me suck the chocolate from your sweet little tongue?"

          Emma pressed her hands flat against his chest, inside his open collar, her whole body trembling with anticipation for what was to come. She knew it wouldn't be a gentle kiss like before when he'd comforted her. No, this would be all-consuming passion of the like she'd never experienced before.

          "You're not frightened of me, are you, my little Emma?" he asked, his lips moving along her jaw, burning a path to her ear. "Just one little kiss? A chocolate kiss? Aren't you the least bit curious?"

          "Yes, I am curious. And no, I'm not frightened of you. You would never hurt me, Jefferson. Not intentionally," she said a bit breathily.

          Jefferson drew back to look into her eyes. "You trust me?" he asked, a puzzled frown knitting his brow.

          "Yes," she said without reservation, a small moan escaping her lips as he claimed her mouth. And she'd been right. She felt as though his goal was to devour her as he expertly coaxed her tongue into his mouth. He tasted so good, like chocolate cream and maple and Jefferson. She would have given anything for him at that moment as he ravaged her mouth, all lips and teeth and tongue. She pressed her breasts into his chest in an attempt to get closer and felt his hands leave her face.

          Jefferson didn't know how much longer he'd be able to control his ever-consuming desire as she pressed herself into his chest, surrendering herself to his embrace. "Emma, love, if we don't stop —"

          Emma claimed his lower lip between her own and moaned into his mouth. "Ask me, Jefferson. Ask me and we won't have to," she gasped.

          "I can't, Emma. Right now, at this moment, I want nothing more than to ask you to marry me," he ground out through clenched teeth, fighting for control. "But I  _can't_."

          Pain of rejection clouded her eyes. "Why?"

          "I just can't."

          Emma placed a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth and climbed off his lap, swaying unsteadily. "Then you deny us both," she whispered softly, turning with her head held high and leaving him in the parlor alone to go to her room.

 _To no doubt lock and bolt the door!_ he thought miserably. Something had to give between them. They couldn't continue these games they'd been playing. She wanted him for her husband, but how long would she be able to resist before she gave in to the fiery tempest of carnal lust which swept them away each time they touched? Then she'd be ruined for anyone but him and they'd be forced to marry. The more he thought about it, the more appealing the idea became.

          The idea wasn't helping relieve his present condition … was, in fact, making it worse. He could always go down to the taverns along the wharf and find a willing woman, but he didn't want a tavern wench. He wanted the little spitfire upstairs who was suffering as he was. He wanted to slake his lust with Emma. Instead, he walked to the French doors, stalked out onto the snow-lined garden path and lowered himself down into the powder face first, praying the slush would cool the desire Emma had stoked into a bonfire.

 

*.*.*

 

_Jefferson —_

 

_Why are you avoiding me? Are you still escorting me to Lord and Lady Hastings's New Year's Eve ball? You did make me promise not to go without you. I miss you._

 

_\-- Emma_

 

          Jefferson stuffed the missive into the breast pocket of his jacket and signaled a footman to bring him paper and quill. He tossed back the scotch in his glass and groaned. It had been six days since she'd left him in the parlor on Christmas day. Six miserable days he'd been walking around with the need for her coursing through his veins and burning him up.

          Either that, or he'd caught a fever from lying too long in the snow. No, it was  _her_. Robbie had come to see him at the townhouse and so had Belle, wondering why he hadn't been over for dinner. He'd had to make excuses, unwilling to tell them the truth. He didn't want them to know he was avoiding Emma for fear of dragging her off to his bed. They didn't know he was in constant torment because he couldn't have her.

          He set the quill to paper and stopped. What was he going to tell her? How could he take her to the Hastings ball and watch her hold  _court_ and dance with her suitors? It would be another episode in the garden or on the veranda where she ended up in his arms and then face down into the snow he would go. All he could think of was how much he wanted her, needed her. It was consuming him. He couldn't do it. He couldn't see her.

 

 

_Emma —_

 

_I'm sorry. I won't be able to accompany you to the Hastings ball._

 

_\-- Jefferson_

 

          He sent the missive off with a footman and settled back into his chair to watch Robert work over Lord Newberry in the ring.  _Bloody idiot! At least I won't have to worry about him trying to steal a kiss from Emma at the ball with that lovely split lip._

 

*.*.*

 

          Fifteen minutes later, the footman was back with a response from his darling spitfire.

 

 

_Jefferson —_

 

_I will expect you to collect me at nine o'clock sharp. If you do not comply, I will go straight to Robbie and Belle and tell them why you have been avoiding me._

 

_\-- Emma_

 

_PS: Did you eat all of your chocolates?_

 

          "Holy hell!" he cursed, grabbing his jacket off the back of the chair and slipping his arms into the sleeves.

          "Where are you going?" Robert called from the ring.

          "I have to have a talk with someone," he practically snarled, stalking from the club to his waiting carriage.  _What the hell? Why is it Robert has all the luck? He gets hot, steamy missives in the post. What do I get? Threats!_

          Emma smiled as she watched Jefferson's carriage pull up in front of the townhouse. She'd been watching for him, certain her last missive would bring about the results she was after. Stubborn man thought he could avoid her, did he? She wasn't going to give up that easily. Hopefully, he wouldn't be too angry with her.

          Jefferson stormed into the parlor and waved the missive angrily under her nose. "What is the meaning of this, brat?"

 _Uh-oh!_  He wasn't using any of the pet names he was wont to call her. He only used 'brat' when he was truly upset with her. Oh, well, no one said this was going to be easy. "Hello, Jefferson. I see you got my note," she demurred sweetly, moving to stand closer to him.

          "That's close enough," he hissed, taking a step back.

          "What's wrong?"

          Jefferson glanced about the parlor to insure they were indeed alone. "You know what's wrong. What's the meaning of threatening me? You know exactly what Robbie will do if he finds out about the games we've been playing with each other. He also knows damn, good and well why I can't marry you."

          "Does he?" she asked hopefully. "Which means Belle knows, too."

          "Do not push this, Emma. You can't force me."

          Emma's features softened and she took his hand in hers. "Jefferson, I would never tell Robbie about us. But I missed you and I knew you would come here if I sent a threat instead of an invitation -"

          "Tricky little minx," he ground out through clenched teeth.

          "- and I don't want you to be forced, Jefferson."

          "Then why are you still holding out hope for something that's never going to happen?" he asked quietly, lifting her chin in his hand and holding her gaze. "You really missed me?"

          "Desperately," Emma whispered, taking another step closer to him. He didn't move away this time. "I don't just enjoy the games we play, Jefferson. I like spending time with you. I enjoy sitting down to dinner with you and I like talking to you. I feel like I've driven you away. That was never my intention"

          "Emma, I'm sorry."

          Emma swatted at a tear which threatened to escape her eye. "Don't be sorry. Just keep your promise you'll be my escort tonight. I don't want to go without you. I know I'm safe with you. At least safe from harm," she teased.

          Jefferson snorted. "Right. I'm to play escort and chaperone again. Wonderful," he said dryly. He lowered his lips to her cheek and gave her a swift kiss. "I'll pick you up at nine."

          Jefferson was nearly to the parlor door when she called out to him, bringing him to a stop. "Jefferson,  _love_?" she called, using a pet name of her own, relishing the shiver which visibly tripped up his spine.

 _Shit! I almost escaped without incident,_ he thought with trepidation.

          "Just so you know," she said, her voice as sweet as honeysuckle. "Until the moment someone else slips a ring on my finger and binds me to them …"

          He turned to look at her over his shoulder, a worried frown creasing his brow. He knew he wasn't going to like what she was about to say, could feel the dread creeping into his gut. "Yes?"

          "I'll never give up on you."

_Holy hell!_

 

*.*.*

 

          "Absolutely not! Go change," Jefferson growled at Emma as she entered the parlor. "You  _will not_  leave the house in that gown."

          Emma looked down at the rose-pink ball gown she wore and frowned. "What's wrong with it?"

          Belle quirked a brow at Jefferson. "There's nothing wrong with the gown she's wearing, Jefferson. She's beautiful and fashionable and all around lovely. So, shut it," she scolded.

          "She's bloody well falling out of the bodice, Belle!" he shouted.

          Belle looked down at her own gown and chuckled. "Jeff, I have a better chance of falling out of mine. Emma isn't changing."

          Jefferson glowered at Belle for refusing to help. "Where are you and Robbie off to? I know he's not letting you drag him to the Hastings ball."

          "Good heavens, no! We're having dinner with the Monroe's tonight," she said with a groan. "Robbie wants to talk to him about an investment or some such business, while I get to spend the evening hearing Lady Monroe blather on about her prize Labradors. I love dogs just as much as the next person, but she goes on for days."

          Jefferson was staring at Emma's ample bosom threatening to spill out of her bodice. "Don't you have a shawl you can cover those with?"

          "Jefferson, don't be absurd. She looks lovely," Belle scolded. "Go on, you two. Have a lovely time," she said, watching Jefferson drape Emma's cloak over her shoulders.

          Emma waited until they were seated in Jefferson's carriage before she asked, "Don't you like my dress?"

          "Emma," he growled warningly.

          "I thought you would like it," she said, her eyes twinkling with mirth as she stared into his.

          "You are being deliberately provoking me, woman, and I don't appreciate it one bit," he hissed through clenched teeth.

          "I'm sure I don't know what you mean," she insisted. "I promise to be on my best behavior and be charming and sweet to everyone. Can you say the same?"

          Jefferson closed his eyes and laid his head back against the cushioned seat. He took a deep calming breath and then another. Nothing was helping. All he could think of was her falling out of the bodice of that damned dress. He imagined having her straddle his lap and pulling the silk and lace down with his teeth.  _Fucking hell! I'm never going to make it. She'll be ruined. I'll be married to a wife who will come to hate me. Shit! Shit! Shit!_

          He swallowed the panic rising in his throat to choke him and turned stiffly toward her. "Rules for the evening, milady."

 _What the hell? Since when does he call me_ that? Her brows rose in surprise. "Rules?"

          Jefferson reached over and pulled the front of her cloak closed, figuring he might be able to concentrate if he didn't have to look at her bosom so blatantly displayed. "Rule number one: do not leave my sight for any reason. Which means, rabbit," he paused dramatically, "if you can't see me, I can't see you."

          Emma nodded.

          "Rule number two: under no circumstances do you dance more than twice with any one man."

          "I think I know about that one, Jefferson. It was ingrained in me from the time my mother started my lessons in the schoolroom," she snapped waspishly.

          "Rule number three: you are not to go out onto the terrace unless you are accompanied by me."

          "I don't think the Hastings have a terrace," Emma replied blandly.

          "Beside the point!"

 _I am so beginning to enjoy this. I'll have to remember to thank Belle for altering the bodice of this dress._  Emma thought silently.

          "Alright. Rule number four?"

          "No chocolate."

          "I beg your pardon? That's utterly ridiculous."

          Jefferson closed his eyes and prayed for patience. How had he let that slip out of his big fat mouth? Just the thought of her sharing a chocolate kiss with anyone but him was twisting his stomach into knots.

          "No chocolate," he repeated. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut as he felt her scoot across the leather seat and place a hand on his chest.

          Emma's lips were a hare's breath away from his ear. "Can I have chocolate if I share it with you?" she asked, breathless from the close proximity.

          Thankfully, the carriage stopped in the long drive of the Hastings townhouse and the door opened, saving Jefferson from having to answer. He led her inside and handed her cloak to a footman before greeting their hostess. All eyes turned to Emma as he led her onto the dance floor.

          "Holy hell!" he cursed as he pressed her tightly to his chest and looked down at her. "You are going to cause a scandal with that bloody dress."

          "Oh, I am not, Jefferson. Look at Sheila or Mandy or even Olivia. Their dresses are similar to mine and you're not complaining," she scoffed, nodding to several of her acquaintances.

          "I don't care what they happen to be wearing. Look at your suitors, any of them, take your bloody pick. They're drooling, Emma, just waiting to get you alone for a dance," he snarled, his voice rising in anger.

          Emma's lips turned up into a brilliant smile. "Jefferson, you're jealous." She could have clapped her hands with joy.

          Jefferson quirked a condescending brow. "I am not jealous."

          "Deny it all you want, Jeff, but I can tell," she said confidently. A little too confidently to suit Jefferson. "You want me for yourself. Which means you don't want other men to look at me. You don't want other men to dance with me. Lord forbid if one should hold me as tightly as you are holding me now."

          "Minx," he growled, avoiding her foot as she missed a step. He was getting better at dancing with her. Of course, he was. She was his. He hated to admit it to himself, but she was right. He hated to be wrong. But everything she said had a ring of truth about it.

          "Brute," she whispered near his ear, her voice soft and husky with desire. "But you're  _my_  brute. Mine, Jefferson. Why can't you just ask me?"

          Jefferson led her off the dance floor and handed her to her next partner, grinding his teeth together in vexation. He grabbed a glass of scotch off the tray on the refreshment table and tossed it back. He'd had three before he trusted himself to find a spot in the crowded ballroom so he could watch her. He was going to have to speak to Robert about finding her a new escort, especially if she was going to wear evening gowns which barely concealed her breasts. He was finding he wasn't very good at resisting temptation.

 

*.*.*

 

          Robert assisted Belle into the carriage for their journey across town to have dinner with the Monroe's. "Robbie," Belle gushed, her excitement bubbling forth. "You should have seen the look on Jefferson's face when he saw Emma's gown."

          "Almost swallowed his teeth, did he?"

          "It was lovely. And the feelings passing back and forth between those two are quite shocking," she said, snuggling into his side. "Reminded me of us not too long ago."

          Robert caught her lower lip between his and groaned. "Belle, you're doing it again. We're on our way to a dinner party. Shall I tell Evans to turn around and take us home?"

          Belle retracted her gift and sighed. "No, darling. I know you want to talk business this evening, but I'm excited about Jefferson and Emma. I want them to be together. They're perfect for each other."

          "And, of course, Jefferson is resisting because he thinks Emma won't understand."

          "Yes, exactly," Belle nodded, brushing the hair away from his eyes. "Now we just need to figure out some way to help them along the road to happiness. Remember, Robbie, Jefferson was there to help us."

          "You don't need to convince me, Belle. I want him to be happy, too."

          Belle brightened. "Darling, were you serious when you said you were including the Northumberland estate in Emma's dowry?"

          Robert pinched the bridge of his nose, knowing he wasn't going to like what she was thinking. "Yes."

          "The renovations are finished?"

          Robert groaned.

          "I think we should send Jefferson to Northumberland to inspect the estate, to make sure it's ready for Emma and her new husband," Belle purred into his ear. "I also think Emma should go with him to see her new home."

          "Belle, that's a scandal in the making!"

          "Delicious, isn't it?" she asked with a dazzling smile.

          "Do you think they'll do it?"

          "When has Jefferson ever denied you anything? You're his dearest friend, Robbie, and you can't leave your bride at home to run off to inspect some silly property, now can you?"

          Robert dropped a kiss to her full lips and pulled her closer. "I knew there was a reason I married you."

          "Oh, and what's that?"

          "Besides the fact that I simply adore you?"

          "Um hmm."

          "You're amazingly clever."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Poor Jefferson. I kinda feel sorry for him ... no not really. Emma just wants him to be happy. I know there are some of you who keep asking for more Robbie and Belle ... this is NOT their story, dearies. They will continue to play a part of the story, but the main focus will remain on our MadSwan pairing. Things heat up next chapter as our pair continue to grow closer and poor Jefferson has one moment of peace before the roof comes crashing down on him lol. Hope you all enjoyed this chapter. I'd love to hear what you think, so don't hesitate to drop me a line. Love and chocolate to you all.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This chapter contains adult themes and situations … reader discretion is advised.

          Emma winced as Lord Wascom stepped on her toes for the third time. How much longer could this go on? "Would you be opposed to having me call on you, milady?" he asked, his tone nasal and whining ... completely off-putting for the girl.

          She suppressed the urge to wrinkle her nose and pasted a smile to her face. "Why that would be delightful, milord," she lied.  _Not if he were the last eligible bachelor in London!_  Where was Jefferson?

          The earl in question had been lounging against a marble pillar when Wascom had escorted her onto the dance floor. Wascom twirled her past him and she sent a pleading look towards him to come to her rescue. Jefferson had been brooding since she'd told him he was jealous, a constant drink in his hand. The man drank entirely too much. Could one drown stubbornness in scotch?

Jefferson tapped Wascom on the shoulder and glared at him until the smaller man took the hint and left the floor. Emma took his hand and stepped into his arms, fighting for breath as he crushed her to his chest. No gaps between their bodies this evening, she thought happily. Drunk and lusty, not a good combination, but one which could work well to her advantage.

          "Jefferson?"

          "Hmm," he grunted, his eyes finding hers and darkening with desire.

          The breath caught in her throat as his gaze locked on her mouth. "You're eating me with your eyes," she said softly. "Isn't that against the rules?"

          Emma was so tired of these games. She was tired of London. Why couldn't he just ask her to marry him? Why did he have to fight her at every turn? He'd already admitted to her that he wanted nothing more than to have her for his wife. What was this great reason he had for holding back his proposal? She was tired of appearing in public on his arm and not being able to have him to herself all evening. She was sick of the endless line of suitors vying for her attention, with their flowery compliments and false platitudes. She wanted romance, what woman wouldn't? But she wanted it to come from Jefferson.

          "Oh, Emma, I can. You can't," he whispered against her ear. "You seem to have more control than I do."

 _More's the pity_ , she thought with a sigh. He sidestepped her foot as she missed a step, the misstep causing him to press her tighter to his chest. She felt a shiver ripple through him and smiled with satisfaction. She decided to try one of his tactics and leaned closer, her warm breath caressing his ear. "Jefferson, we should have stayed home this evening."

          Jefferson stiffened. "Why?" he asked warily, wondering where she was going with this. She had that seductive tone to her voice which never boded well for him.

          "We could have sat in the parlor by the fire," she purred.

          "Um —"

          "Um is good," she chuckled darkly, remembering when she'd told him the same thing Christmas day while he'd been trying to get her to succumb to his advances. "We could have shared a nice box of chocolates."

          "Fucking hell, Emma!" he cursed, the thought of being alone with her and a box of chocolates brought a flood of images to his mind which were far from innocent.

          Emma smiled against his ear, wishing she could nip it with her teeth. Wishing they were alone so she could kiss the pulse which beat rapidly in his neck. "We could've eaten chocolates all evening and then I could've sucked the rich melted goodness ... right off your tongue."

          Jefferson nearly dropped her, right there in the middle of the dance floor. He blinked several times and grabbed her hand, hauling her to the front door and collecting their cloaks, positioning her before him in an effort to hide his burgeoning erection from the prying eyes of his peers. "Not one more word, Emma," he growled warningly as he handed her up into the carriage.

          Emma felt giddy with power, drunk on the power to make him lose the tight hold he had on his control. Who knew one could be so easily swayed with a few carefully chosen words? "Jefferson —"

          Jefferson held up his hands to stop her. "Not a word, Emma."

          "But —"

          He laid his head back against the cushioned seat and groaned. What the hell was she doing to him?  _Making me want her, that's what._  He was going to have to talk to Robert about finding her another escort. He couldn't continue to be in her presence constantly. It was entirely too painful, and he refused to lie down in the snow again. He's lucky he hadn't caught his death of cold he'd had to lie there for so long to gain control over his raging need.

          No, the simplest solution would be to remove himself from her social sphere, completely. Robert would marry her off and then he could resume his friendship with him. But then he would have to see her married to someone else, he thought morosely. How would he be able to stand it? He could barely stand to watch her dance with someone else, but to know she would be sharing the blighter's bed was just unthinkable. He looked over at her warily, sitting there in that outrageously low-cut dress. He wanted to grip the bodice with his teeth and rip it from her.

          Jefferson stifled a groan as the carriage stopped. He didn't say a word as he led her to the front door and into the parlor where he moved to the hearth and stoked the dying fire, the only source of light in the room.

          Emma moved to stand before him, removing her cloak and laying it over the back of the sofa. He watched her through narrowed eyes as she pushed his jacket off his arms and laid it atop her cloak. He caught her hands in his as she removed his cravat. The intimacy of her innocent actions - something a wife might do for her husband at the end of a long day - only fed his need for her.

          "What are you doing, Emma?"

          She pulled her hands from his and undid the first two buttons of his shirt. "There, much better. I know you don't like to be confined," she explained. "You always stay here at the townhouse after you escort me to a party, so I thought you might as well get comfortable." She smiled slyly at him and he could practically see the gears turning in her sharp mind. The innocent act wasn't fooling him one bit.

          Jefferson moved away from her, the temptation to touch her too great, and sat down on the sofa, stretching his long legs out before him. "Emma, this has to stop. Whatever this is between us must stop," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. "I'm going to ask Robert to find someone else to be your escort."

          "What? No!" she protested. An inexplicable fear rose in her at the thought of him abandoning her to the _ton_. How would she ever be able to convince him they were meant to be together if she could no longer spend time with him?

          Jefferson stared down at his polished boots, unable to look up at her, unwilling to see the pain he knew was reflected there. "I can't be what you want, Emma … what you need."

          Emma brushed away the angry tears that had begun to fall. "Why are you doing this, Jefferson? Why are you being so stubborn? Did you ever think that I might be what  _you_  need? I know you care for me," she cried.

          Jefferson groaned and let his head fall back onto the sofa. "I can't marry you, Emma, and the more time I spend with you, the harder it will be for you to choose someone who can. I have to stop being selfish and let you move on with your life," he said, each word wrenched from him, each word causing him pain.

          "Tell me why! I don't want to hear 'I can't'. I want a reason, Jefferson!" she hissed furiously, fighting to maintain control over her voice so she wouldn't wake the entire household.

          "No. My reasons are mine alone, my burden to bear," he denied her softly, knowing it wouldn’t help to diffuse her temper.

          The first shoe hit him squarely in his chest. "I don't want anyone but you. The second hit him in his shoulder. Emma hiked up her skirt and climbed onto his lap, slapping him with all her strength across his handsome face. "Why?"

          "Emma, what the hell? Have you gone mad?" he asked, stunned she'd actually resorted to violence. He grabbed her hands in his to prevent her from slapping him again. "Emma!"

          "Why, Jefferson? If you never had any intention of marrying me, why did you make me want you so badly?" she asked, unable to stop the tears, unable to stop her heart from breaking. "Why did you make me love you?" she cried, collapsing onto his chest and burying her face in the curve of his neck. "Why did you make me love you?"

          Jefferson wrapped his arms around her and crushed her to his chest. _She loved him? What the hell?_ "Hush, rabbit, don't cry," he crooned into her ear. "Don't love me, Emma. I'm not worthy of your love."

          Emma lifted her head, searching his face. She could see the honesty shining in his eyes. He really believed he wasn't worthy of her love. "Yes, Jefferson, you are." She brushed her lips to his, catching his lower lip between hers, molding her lips to his.

          Jefferson stiffened as she settled onto his groin and he moaned into her mouth. His hands moved down her back, grasping her hips and pulling her to him, grinding his hardness to the very core of her, reveling in her gasp. He wanted her so badly, his blood screamed for her.

          "Emma …" he ground out through clenched teeth, breaking the kiss. But she didn't want to hear anything he had to say just now as she moved against him, having found she rather liked the way they fit together. "Emma, love, stop."

          "No," she gasped as his lips trailed a path of fire down her throat. How could anything feel so good? What would it be like to really make love with him? To have his bare skin pressed to hers? To have him inside her? He was burning her with his touch. Why would he deny himself that pleasure when all he had to do was commit himself to her?

          Jefferson ran his tongue along the swell of her breast and grasped the bodice of her gown with his teeth as he'd dreamed of doing all evening, hearing the fabric rip. Emma bit her lip to stifle a scream as he took her breast in his mouth, his rough tongue circling the nipple. She thrust her hands into his hair and held him to her, never having experienced such sheer bliss before. And all the while she rocked against him, searching for something, knowing she would only find it with this man, only in his arms.

          Jefferson grasped her hips, grinding himself against her, increasing the tempo. "Emma, love, look at me," he said, leaning back against the sofa so he could watch her. "Look at me, sweetheart."

          Emma opened her eyes and met his smoky grey gaze. She couldn't have answered him if she'd wanted to, so consumed with her desire she was incapable of speech. She closed her eyes as her need increased, her hands snaking into his short locks to grip it firmly.

          He rearranged her skirts, bunching them around her trim waist as he held her gaze. He relished the fear of the unknown lurking in her emerald orbs, the pupils dilated with her desire. He skimmed his fingertips lightly, slowing her movements to prolong their pleasure. Her eyes widened, her lips falling apart in a perfect 'o' of wonder as he brushed his knuckles against the thin silk barrier of her knickers covering her heated sex. The silk was wet with her arousal and slid with delicious friction as he rubbed with just the right amount of pressure.

          Jefferson reached up behind her head, his hand delving into her golden curls to pull her down to his lips again, his tongue thrusting into her mouth in time with the movements of his hand against her core. He tore his lips away from her when the need for air became too much and trailed hot open-mouthed kisses over her collarbone, the light stubble on his jaw leaving her skin red and flushed.

          A whimper of loss sounded in the back of her throat as he removed the hand at the juncture of her thighs to cup her full breasts in his hands, only to be replaced with a deep moan as his lips closed over her right nipple. She ground her hips down against him, unable to stop herself from seeking that lovely friction he'd caused before with his hands. "That's it, love, find your pleasure. Don't hold back," he purred as he placed a soft kiss between the valley of her breasts.

          She heeded his words, her gaze locked with his as she rocked against him, his hardness so much more prevalent without her skirts there as a buffer between them. Somewhere in the back of her mind there was a niggling voice telling her what she was doing was wrong, but the heat and wetness and - oh, so much pleasure - from his mouth cajoled her to ignore her better sense. Her pace quickened as he sucked her nipple deeper into his mouth, his tongue swirling about the taut bud, the sensations sending more and more jolts of electricity along her nerve endings to settle hotly in her quivering core. She closed her eyes, unable to look upon the desire so evident in his eyes.

          "Look at me, love. I want to see you when you come for me," he broke, his voice hoarse with his own need. Emma couldn't hold back the scream as she came with him, his lips covering hers to muffle the sound. She could feel him throb against her and it only increased the spasms of pleasure which rocked her body.

          A tear slid from her eye to drop onto his face at the sheer beauty of it all, knowing they would be glorious when they were finally able to make love. She knew they were cheating themselves, that this was just another of Jefferson's games. To show her what they were denying themselves.

          "Let me take you upstairs, Emma. Let me love you properly," he fairly begged, his lips pressing a light kiss to her temple. He knew what her answer would be, knew she would continue to deny him until he asked the right question. He was surprised and hopeful when she brushed her lips to his and smiled.

          "No."

          "Emma -"

          "Ask me," she whispered against his ear, nipping the lobe with her teeth. "Ask me and I'll surrender myself to you right now, Jefferson. You can have all of me, my love. My body," she trailed her lips along his throat. "My heart," she kissed the corner of his mouth. "My very soul."

          Jefferson dropped his hands to his sides, closing himself off from her. She could have slapped him again, her frustration was so great. It was like a knife to her heart. His determination was just too great. "I won't, Emma. I won't marry you now only to have you hate me later. I can't live like that."

          Emma's brow knitted into a puzzled frown, knowing there would be no getting through to him tonight. "I'm not giving up, Jefferson."

          "I know."

          "You'll change your mind," she insisted.

          "I won't."

          Emma moved off his lap and pulled the edges of her bodice together to cover herself. "You will, Jefferson," she whispered softly. "I love you and I know you care for me. As long as I know that, I'll never give up hope." She raised her chin stubbornly and left the parlor to go upstairs to bed, leaving Jefferson to his thoughts.

          Emma waited until she'd reached her room to let the dam of tears free, throwing herself across the bed to mourn for what he was denying them. Happiness.

 

*.*.*

 

          "Emma, what are you doing up here? You have a parlor full of callers downstairs," Belle said as she swept into Emma's bedchamber. "And what are you still doing in bed? Are you ill?"

          "Go away, cousin," Emma mumbled and buried her head under the pillow. She was never getting out of bed again, was going to lie there and die. She'd finally cried herself to sleep at dawn and was in no mood to face her suitors, much less Jefferson. She was going to lie there and let the depression seep into her veins. How could Jefferson throw away what they had together? Now he didn't even want to be her escort anymore.

          Emma groaned as Belle pulled the pillow off her head. "Get out of that bed and stop feeling sorry for yourself. Right now, Emma."

          "I'm going to lay here and die, Belle. Go away."

          Enough was enough. " _Up, up, up, Emma!"_  Belle projected into her cousin's head.

          Emma screamed and sat up, staring at Belle in horror. "What the hell was that?" Emma asked, her eyes wide with fear.

          "It's a gypsy thing, darling. Nothing to worry about," Belle assured her. "Now, tell me what happened with Jefferson last night that makes you think your life is over."

          "I beg your pardon?"

          "Emma, I know you are in love with each other," Belle said gently.

          "He told you?" Emma gasped.

          Belle sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, knowing now she would have to tell Emma the truth. "I'm an empath, Emma. That means I can share my thoughts with you and feel your emotions. If it's someone I care about and they 'think' hard enough at me, I can hear their thoughts. Do you understand?"

          "That's why it always looks like you and Robbie are having a conversation without saying a word," Emma gasped, finally understanding the strange antics of her cousin.

          The duchess nodded. "Now, tell me what's happened between you and Jefferson," Belle pressed. "I know you were with him last night. Robbie forbade me to come downstairs when I started intercepting your emotions, especially the ones Jefferson was having."

          "Belle!"

          "Well, since I got pregnant, I've been having a wee bit of trouble controlling my gift," she grimaced.

          Emma rubbed a hand over her eyes and groaned.

          "That bad, huh?"

          Emma told Belle everything which had transpired between them since Jefferson had returned from Rochefort, ending with, "He is the most stubborn man I have ever had the misfortune to meet. He's fighting me with everything he's got, Belle. Why aren't you mad? I've behaved abominably."

          Belle blushed. "One day, after you're married, of course, remind me to tell you about how much trouble I got into because of an éclair."

          Emma giggled. It must be a great story to make Belle blush like that.

          "You really love him, don't you?

          Emma sighed. "With all my heart."

          "So, what do you want me to do about your callers?"

          "I suppose I'll have to get dressed and come down. It would be terribly selfish of me to stay up here and sulk when they've gone to the trouble of coming to see me," Emma replied, her tone flat.

          "Stop trying to be the perfect lady, Emma. Be yourself. You don't have to please  _anyone_  else," Belle scolded. She rose to return to the parlor. "Oh, I nearly forgot. You need to pack to go to Northumberland."

          "What?" Emma shrieked. "Why?"

          Belle's expression was exultant to say the least and it worried Emma. "Robbie is going to ask Jefferson to go to Northumberland to make sure the renovations on the estate there are finished and up to spec. Robbie and I want you to go, too. After all, it is part of your dowry and will be your new home."

          Emma's mouth dropped open in shock. "You're sending me off with Jefferson. Alone. To Northumberland. Alone. Bloody hell! Jefferson is going to be furious."

          "Yes, dear," Belle grinned, turning and opening the door. "Especially since he doesn't know you'll be going until after he's already promised. And you know he never breaks a promise to Robbie."

          Emma's laughter followed Belle all the way down the stairs. The new Duchess of Sheffield was diabolically clever and Emma was extremely grateful she was on her side.

 

*.*.*

 

          "Why are you drinking before noon? Again?" Robert asked as he dropped the post on the desk and sat down behind it. He'd noticed Jefferson had been drinking more lately and he was sure it had to do with Emma. The earl was stretched out on the sofa in Robert's study, trying to drink away the image of Emma in his lap, squirming around and looking all around delicious.

          Jefferson stuck a finger under his cravat and pulled gently. He was going to fire his valet if he didn't stop trying to choke him with the bloody thing. He rose from the sofa and refilled his glass, scowling at Robert.

          "Jeff, I need a favor," Robert said, sitting back and casually looking through the post on his desk.

          "What kind of favor?" Jefferson asked warily. It wasn't always easy to grant favors to his friend because Robert didn't ask often. But when he did, he was usually in desperate need and unable to complete the task himself.

          "With Belle's pregnancy and her gift all askew, I can't leave her," the duke began, leaning back in his chair and steepling his fingers before him.

          "Alright," Jefferson agreed tentatively.

          "I need to go to Northumberland to inspect the estate there, to make sure the renovations were done as I'd ordered."

          Jefferson waved his hand. "Get to the bloody point, Robbie. Don't chew it to death."

          "I need you to go in my place."

          A huge grin split Jefferson's handsome face. "I'll leave immediately. Tomorrow morning at the latest." Finally, good news. He had a mission. He would be able to do a favor for his friend  _and_  get away from the object of his desire at the same time. He'd finally be able to get some rest, something which had eluded him of late.

          "Tomorrow. Tonight, we'll go to the club and play cards, have a few drinks, maybe place a few bets. You're not escorting Emma anywhere tonight, are you?" Robbie asked, rubbing his hand over his mouth to hide his grin. Of course, he knew Jefferson was free and sweet little Emma would be spending the evening packing.

          "About that," Jefferson sighed, a frown puckering his brow. "I don't think I'll be able to be Emma's escort any longer."  _Coward! You just don't trust yourself to be alone with her again._

          Robert looked truly disappointed. "I'm sorry to hear that, Jefferson. I suppose I will have to do it now," he scowled. "And you know how I detest those affairs. But I do have to find a husband for the darling girl, after all."

          Jefferson ground his teeth together, but kept silent. He couldn't. It didn't matter that marrying her now was his fondest desire. He just couldn't. He was jerked from his reverie by a loud crash in the hall. Robert had heard it as well, rising from his chair to investigate.

 

*.*.*

 

          Robert stopped abruptly as he neared the parlor and Jefferson plowed into his back, stumbling to right themselves. "What the hell, Robbie?" Jefferson asked, finally looking up to see what the commotion was about and coming face to face with a ghost.

          Or not. More like a bloody pirate. Nearing six feet, short coal black hair and unmistakably soft blue eyes. "No, gentlemen, I'm not a ghost, if that's what you're thinking."

          "Killian?" Robert asked, eying him closely, looking for his friend behind the disguise.

          "And who else would it be, mate?" Killian St. James asked, shaking Robert's hand and turning to Jefferson. "You two're still thick as thieves I see. Glad to see some things never change."

          "We heard you'd died," Jefferson said dryly.

          "Vicious rumors," the earl turned pirate replied with a broad grin, revealing his pearly white teeth.

          Robert clapped him on the back. "Welcome home, old boy. So glad to see the gossip was greatly exaggerated." He led Killian into the parlor where Emma and Belle were having tea with six of Emma's suitors.

          "Belle, sweetheart. Come and meet my friend, Killian," Robert said happily, drawing Belle to his side.

          "Don't tell me you've finally married, Robbie. I've been looking forward to visiting some of our old haunts now that I've returned," Killian drawled with a devilish wink. He bowed over Belle's hand. "Lovely to meet you, Your Grace."

          "Don't start with that mess," Belle scolded. "You may call me Belle."

          "And you, my lovely, may call me Killian."

          Robert elbowed him in the ribs. "That's enough St. James charm for one afternoon."

          Jefferson surveyed the room, his lip turning up in disgust. Six bloody gold-digging buffoons were crowded in the parlor all trying to curry Emma's favor. "Out! Clear out, you lot! Can't you see we have a guest? Out!"

          "Jefferson!" Belle shouted over the din which ensued after his edict. "Stop ordering people out of the house. They've come to see Emma, not you. Bloody ass!"

          Jefferson turned his icy grey gaze upon her and directed his thoughts at her. " _Get them out, now. Otherwise, I will take Emma out of here and cause a nasty scene. Which do you prefer? Bloody gold-diggers polluting the damn parlor."_

          The color drained from Belle's face. It was all well and good for him to carry on with Emma as long as it was just the family, but she couldn't allow him to ruin her in front of these gentlemen. "I'm sorry, gentlemen. I'm sure if you call again at a better time that would be lovely. Good afternoon." She completely dismissed them and turned to Emma, mouthing the word, "Sorry."

          Emma glared at Jefferson and rose from the damask sofa, gathering her dignity about her like a cloak. "A word please in the drawing room, Jefferson."

          "Just a moment there, my lovely. I didn't catch your name," Killian crooned, all charm and dashing smile as he stepped forward to take her hand and drop a kiss on her palm.

          Jefferson snatched her hand from Killian, his eyes shooting daggers at the man. "Bugger off, Killian. This lovely is mine," he hissed menacingly and dragged Emma off to the drawing room, leaving his three friends in the parlor, stunned by that announcement.

          Emma rounded on him as he shut the drawing room door behind them. "What right do you have to send my callers away? You're acting like a brute!" she shouted, moving to stand before him. He crossed his arms over his chest and quirked a brow at her. Her temper flared and she brought her heel down hard on the toe of his booted foot.

          "Damnit, woman!" Jefferson howled, limping to the sofa and pulling his boot off to check the damage.

          Emma paced angrily before him. "No right, Jefferson!" She paused mid stride when the words he'd said as they left the parlor registered amidst the red haze of her anger. "Mine? Did you really tell that man I was yours? You've changed your mind?" she asked, hope welling up in her chest.

          "No!" Jefferson shouted back at her, rubbing his injured toe. "I haven't changed my mind, but Killian St. James does  _not_  need to know that. You don't know him like I do. He may be my friend, but that doesn't mean anything where you are concerned. He's a rake, a bounder and a cad. You will not go near him, Emma."

          Emma glared at him and lifted her chin stubbornly. "Jefferson, you have no say in the matter. You're not my father, my guardian or my husband. And until you change that fact, there's nothing you can do about it."

          Jefferson stood, towering over her. "I'm not changing my mind!" he shouted.

          "Fine!" she shouted back at him, her chest heaving with anger. "I don't want you anyway."

          "Liar!"

          "Not anymore," she amended. "I'm not going to marry someone who cares so little for me that they're going to dictate my every action," she countered hotly.

          "I didn't ask!"

          "Good!"

          Jefferson leaned down to retrieve his boot, intending to put it on and leave. Instead, he took both of his hands and ran them up Emma's legs, lifting her skirt as he grabbed her heart-shaped arse in his hands and lifted her, wrapping her legs about his hips. He clasped her to him tightly as he ravaged her mouth, delving his tongue inside to taste her. He backed her against the door, pinning her hips with his own to keep them in place.

          "Jefferson," she moaned into his mouth, her arms wrapping about his neck. His hand slipped into the bodice of her gown to cup her breast, his thumb circling the nipple. He ground his hips against her as she nipped his ear with her teeth.

          "Tell me, Emma," he hissed against her ear.

          Emma lifted her gaze to his, searching. She knew what he wanted. "I love you," she whispered, never breaking eye contact. "I love you, Jefferson."

          He buried his face in her neck, wondering how he could make his way through the house to his room without being seen. "Let me make love to you, Emma. _Really_ make love to you." His tongue scaled the length of her swan-like neck to suckle tenderly beneath her ear. "Please."

          Emma fought back the tears which sprang to her eyes. "No."

          "Emma —"

          "Ask me, Jefferson. Please, just ask me," she pleaded, pressing her lips to his throat where his pulse beat a rapid tempo. "Please."

          A knock sounded loudly on the door behind them. "What's going on in there?" Robert asked loudly enough for them to hear through the heavy oak door. On the other side of the door he was doing his damnedest to stifle his laughter, knowing all too well what his friend was up to in the dimly lit recesses of the drawing room. He'd taken one look at the heated blush on Belle's face and set off to stop them. At least until Jefferson came to him to ask for Emma's hand. "Belle is quite distressed that you haven't returned to the parlor, Emma."

          Jefferson fought for control, his voice coming out in a hoarse croak. "We'll be there in a moment, Robbie."

          Jefferson waited until Robert's footsteps receded and let Emma slide down his body to the floor. He straightened her bodice and smoothed her skirt before stepping back. "Go upstairs and splash some water on your face before you rejoin the others," he ordered, pulling his boot on.

          "Wh-Where are you going?" she asked, her breathing labored.

          "I have to go."

          "Are you coming back to escort me to the ball tonight?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

          "No."

          "Coward," she hissed, trading one passion for another. "Enjoy your evening, Lord Madden." And with that, she stalked out of the drawing room.

          Jefferson cursed under his breath and went to the sideboard to pour himself a drink. He was in hell and Emma was the demon assigned to poke him with a pitchfork in the arse for all eternity. Thank heavens Robert was making him go to Northumberland. Maybe he would finally find some peace in the frozen countryside without Emma there to plague his every waking thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Poor Jefferson...does he really think it's going to be that easy to escape? Emma is a woman on a mission, and she is quite determined it seems. Next chapter: An altercation at the ball and leaving for Northumberland. I really hope ya'll are still enjoying the story and would love to hear what you think. Thanks in advance for reading and reviewing. xoxox


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains adult themes and situations. Trigger warning for spanking. Reader discretion is advised.

          Robert sat across from Killian in his study and swirled the scotch in his glass. Jefferson had gone upstairs to change, leaving them alone for a long chat. "So," Robert began, a small smirk playing at his thin lips. "Where've you been, Killian? The last we heard was your ship had gone down somewhere near the coast of Virginia."

          "Massachusetts, mate," Killian clarified. "I was wounded in the shoulder after our ship was attacked. Ended up in the water and was somehow able to swim to shore. Don't remember much. I was water-logged and had a raging fever."

          "How  _did_  you survive?"

          Killian's brow knitted in a frown, focusing on an image that still continued to haunt him. "All I remember is lavender eyes and coal black hair. She was lovely. Patched me up, she did, and then disappeared." His frown deepened as he called forth her image, giving his friend the bare bones of the experience. She still haunted his dreams. He shook his head to clear it, waving a dismissive hand. "Next thing I knew, I was on the first ship back to England."

          "Back for good, or are you planning on shipping out again?" Robert asked, refilling Killian's glass. "I'd like to see you stay. You've your title, lands and wealth and a new crop of lovelies every season."

          "I don't know, Rob. I merely dropped my bag off at the townhouse and came here to see you. Have to hire a staff to get that place livable again."

          Robert shrugged. "You can always stay here until you get your residence in order," he offered.

          "I might just have to take you up on that offer, at least for tonight."

          "Might I ask a favor?" Robert asked, a devilishly delicious idea forming in his mind.

"Sure. Anything for a friend."

          "How would you like to escort a lovely young lady to the ball at Lady Lansdowne’s townhouse this evening?"

          Killian's brow raised suspiciously, leaning forward and resting his forearms against his knees as his ears perked with interest. "And who might the young lady be?" Robert grinned. "Not Rochefort’s little dove?"

          "One and the same."

          Killian's lips curled up in a roguish grin. "And you would have the lady see me in a favorable light? Or as the pirate?"

          "Let's just say, Jefferson needs to see the pirate."

 

*.*.*

 

          Emma closed the lid on her trunk and fastened the lock, having finished packing for her trip to Northumberland. She started with fright as Belle burst into her room, the door banging into the wall. Bridgette, her maid and Nora, Belle's faithful servant, trailing in her wake. Alarm swept through her as she eyed the ballgown draped over her cousin's outstretched arms.

          "Quickly, Emma," Belle said matter-of-factly, dragging Emma over to the dressing table. "Nora, nothing elaborate. Simple but elegant, please," she instructed her maid. Nora attacked Emma's hair with a vengeance, twisting and piling her hair atop her head in a mass of ringlets.

          "What're we doing, cousin?" Emma asked with a puzzled frown, wincing as the maid pulled just a little too hard.

          Belle winked at her in the mirror. "Lord Easterly is escorting you to the Lansdowne ball this evening."

          "What?" she shrieked, turning to stare in horror at Belle. She didn't want to think of going out into society with anyone other than Jefferson. He'd been her champion when she'd ventured back into the social whirl, had been there to take the brunt of the gossip surrounding her and the infamous dowry Robert had settled on her, and protected her from those who merely wished to prey on her. Now that she loved him, the thought of going out and about with anyone else caused her chest to tighten painfully.

          "It's alright, Emma," Belle reassured her with a warm smile. "Jefferson will be there."

          "I thought he didn't want to —"

          "Trust me. Hurry, we haven't much time."

 

*.*.*

 

          Jefferson absently ran his finger along the rim of his glass and tossed several pounds onto the pile in the center of the table. He was steadily losing to Robert, not that he cared. He could afford it and Robert liked winning. He wondered what Emma was doing? She'd been in a splendid fury when he'd left her at the townhouse. He loved her passion in whatever form it chose to present itself. She would make a lovely wife for someone, just not him. He tossed his drink back with a dark scowl and signaled a footman to refill it.

          "How is it you can sit there, not paying any attention to the game and still win?" Robert asked as he shuffled the cards and dealt a new hand.

          "Sorry. You say something, Robbie," Jefferson asked, dragging his thoughts back to the game. Apparently, his luck had changed when he hadn't been looking.

          Robert smirked into his scotch. "Too bad Killian didn't wish to join us," he said in a casual tone. He could've just as easily been talking about the weather. He glanced furtively at Jefferson over the top of his cards.

          The earl perused his cards and placed his bet on the table. "Yeah, too bad," he said sourly. He really had nothing against Killian, considered him a friend, after all. He just didn't want him within a block of Emma with his smooth charm and dashing smile. He might have to kill him if he attempted to seduce the darling girl. Messy, that. "Where is the blighter?"

          "He decided to escort Emma to the Lansdowne ball tonight so I didn't have to," Robert replied, resting his head back against the chair to watch for Jefferson's reaction. Of course, he didn't have to wait long.

          Jefferson stared blankly at him for a full minute before the realization of what Robert had said hit him squarely in his chest. His Emma at the mercy of that pirate? His lovely Emma waltzing in the arms of that bounder? His darling love strolling on the terrace with that rogue? Over his dead body! Jefferson laid his cards on the table and calmly rose to his feet.

          "Where're you going, Jefferson?" Robert asked, lifting a noble brow as he fought to stifle the laughter threatening to choke him.

          Jefferson glared at Robbie across the table. "Forgot about a previous appointment, old boy. See you," he said and marched out of the club and into his waiting carriage, shouting directions at his driver.

 

*.*.*

 

          Killian St. James was the epitome of charm and grace and Emma was actually enjoying herself, much to her surprise. He didn't even mind that she danced all over his feet, but he wasn't Jefferson, and she was missing her earl terribly. She missed his arms around her. She missed the way he whispered scandalous things in her ear as they twirled about the floor. She just missed _him_.

          "You don't seem very happy to be here, milady," Killian said with a sad smile. "Don't you enjoy my company?"

          "Of course, milord. You are very charming," she assured him, smiling warmly into his cool beryl eyes.

          "Ah, but you are missing your love, are you not?" he queried with a roguish all-knowing smile.

          "No … I -"

          "Don't try to deny it. I know that look a woman gets when she's pining for her true love. Wounded I am, love," he teased her. "I could very easily take your mind off our dear Jefferson."

          "And when will you have time, Killian? You've been too busy all evening answering everyone's query as to where you've been and laying all the rumors to rest," she retorted, distracted as Killian twirled her toward the edge of the dance floor and she caught sight of a plum jacket. She glanced down at the plunging neckline of the lavender gown Belle had loaned her. Her cousin must have known and dressed them to match. They would look splendid together.

          "Don't look now, lovey, but your beau has arrived. And what a delightful display of jealousy, I must say," he chuckled dryly, leading her away from the dance floor with one fluid movement and disappearing into the crowd. "Let's have a stroll in the garden, shall we?"

          Emma tucked her hand in the crook of Killian's arm and didn't even glance in Jefferson's direction as he led her out into the garden. "I really don't think this is such a good idea."

          "Course it is, my darling."

          "But —"

          Killian knew the earl wouldn't be long, quite intent on rescuing his lady. He led her out the french doors and onto the terrace, his eyes searching for a nice secluded spot to stage her seduction before he urged her into the Lansdowne’s extensive garden with its bubbling fountains. He swung Emma around in his arms and pressed her close to his chest, her hands bracing there to keep her balance. She opened her mouth to protest just before his lips closed over hers, and she felt absolutely … nothing.

          "Why did you do that?" Emma asked as she looked up at him quizzically. She pushed against his chest, but he held her fast. It wasn't as though she'd never been in a man's embrace, but it somehow felt wrong to be held so intimately by anyone other than Jefferson. Killian was handsome and charming and all around lovely in appearance, but he just didn't make her swoon with desire.

          "Shh, love. Play along with the little ruse and you just may succeed in making your beau pea green with envy," he snickered lightly against her ear.

          Jefferson grabbed Killian's shoulder, causing Emma to be whirled about to land in his arms. His face was black with rage as he shoved her behind him and landed a quick jab to Easterly's nose. He really didn't think it a good idea to kill the blighter. Would ruin Lady Lansdowne’s ball, that. "Keep away from her, St. James," he growled at Killian. "She's not some common tart for you to work your wiles. She's a fine lady and she will be treated accordingly … or I  _will_ ruin you. The next time I'm forced to warn you, it will be with pistols at dawn." Grabbing Emma's hand, he escorted her to the door and collected her cloak before leading her outside and handing her up into his carriage.

          Emma stared at him wide-eyed with trepidation as he sat there, fury etched into every line of his face. She'd never been frightened of him until now, because now his fury was directed at her. She didn't say a word until they reached the townhouse. She even held her tongue as she bolted from the carriage and ran to the door. She was nearly to the stairs when he caught her and tossed her over his shoulder, carrying her into the parlor.

          "One scream, Emma, will make this even worse for you," he snarled at her kicking and squirming form as she tried to get him to let her go.

          "Jefferson, let go of me," she hissed, her fear having turned to anger at his manhandling.

          He sat down on the sofa and laid her face down on his lap, raising her skirt.  _Holy hellfire and damnation! She doesn't have a stitch on under this gown._  Fine! Easier to dole out her punishment.

          Emma was beginning to panic. Her father had never laid a hand on her while she was growing up and yet this stubborn man was going to beat her. "Jefferson, stop!" she demanded, trying to quell the fear in her voice.

          Jefferson brought his hand down with a sharp whack. "That is for disobeying me and going out with St. James."

          "You didn't forbid it!" she shrieked in outrage, wincing slightly at the first stinging blow of his hand.

          "Well I bloody well should have!"

          _Whack!_ "That is for wearing another gown so low-cut every man in London was ogling your bosom." _Whack!_ "That is for making me want you." _Whack! Whack! Whack!_ "And that is for letting the bastard kiss you!"

          Emma stilled on his lap. He wasn't hurting her. She doubted he would ever be able to ever truly hurt her. He was merely teaching her another lesson. Jefferson rubbed his hand over the marks he'd made on her arse and groaned. She bit her lip to keep from screaming in frustration when he pulled her skirt down to cover her and helped her rise to her feet.

          Jefferson sat back, his gaze narrowed on her. She was furious, so he wasn't expecting her to climb onto his lap as she had the previous night. He stiffened as she settled herself onto his groin, waiting, unable to move.

          And she slapped him. "That is for making me go to the ball with Killian instead of with you." Again. "That is for spanking me when you have no right, no claim on me. Something easily remedied if you would stop being a stubborn ass and just ask me to marry you."

          Jefferson didn't say a word. He sat there and let her release her anger, her hurt and her grief. He wasn't expecting her to lean forward and mold her lips to his, dominating them in one of the hottest kisses he'd ever experienced in his adult life. She sucked his tongue into her mouth, and he felt her throb against his erection. He'd taught her well, apparently. She used her tongue, her lips, even her teeth to nip his bottom lip until he was nearly as breathless as she.

          Emma put everything into that kiss. All her desire, all her passion, all her love, grinding her hips against him. She pulled back, her gaze locking with his. And then she rose from his lap and left him in the parlor to suffer alone. It didn't matter that she was a smoldering mass of desire. She would have her anger to keep her warm tonight. Let him sit there and think of all he was giving up because of his stubborn refusal to marry her.

 

*.*.*

 

          Jefferson was whistling as he came down the stairs the next morning. Freedom! Freedom from Emma! The whistling stopped. Maybe this wasn't going to be as wonderful as he'd thought. He knew he needed to be done with the undeniable attraction between them so she could move on, but the thought was like a weight crushing his chest. He didn't want her to move on … unless it was with him. He smothered the idea and placed his bag next to the front door as he waited for the ducal coach to be brought around to the front drive.

          Robert had insisted he take his coach since it was much more luxurious than Jefferson's own. What did he need with luxury? He was just going to Northumberland to inspect the duke's home there. Robert was waiting to greet him as he entered the parlor.

          "All set to go, Jeff?" he asked, offering him a cup of tea.

          Jefferson accepted the tea and sat down on the sofa, stretching his legs out in front of him. "You can't even begin to realize how happy I am to be getting away for a while."

          Robert quirked an amused brow at him. "Glad to hear it. I want a full report upon your return."

          Jefferson's head turned as he caught a flash of color pass by the parlor door. He must be seeing things this morning. Or it might be that he was hoping Emma would come downstairs to see him off. She was still, no doubt, pouting over his latest rejection. Last night had left him arguing with himself over why he continued to resist her, keeping him up for hours. It was just a hopeless situation and he was tired of losing sleep over it.

          "Mrs. Green prepared a nice basket of goodies for your trip," Robert said, handing the basket to Jefferson and shaking his hand in farewell.

          "Well, at least I won't have to worry about you while I'm gone. Easterly will make sure you get out of the house at least once a week," Jefferson muttered dryly. "Just not natural for a man to spend  _all_  his time with one's wife."

          Robert quirked a brow, a devilish smirk curling up one side of his mouth. "Yes, well not everyone has a wife as delectable as mine in both mind  _and_  body."

          Jefferson left Robert in the parlor and made his way down the steps to the waiting coach, bounding inside. His eyes widened as he settled on the seat. "Holy hell!" he cursed. He set the basket down and jumped down from the coach, nearly running back to the house to confront his so-called friend.

          "Robert Gold, you devious bastard!" Jefferson shouted the moment he'd gained entrance to the house.

          Robert was grinning as he poked his head around the parlor door. "Really, Jefferson, keep your voice down. The neighbors, you know."

          "She is  _not_  going!"

          "Why not? She has a right to see her future home. It  _is_  part of her dowry. I thought this would be the perfect opportunity for her to see if she likes it," Robert explained, trying his best not to laugh outright.

          "But Emma Morrison is an unmarried female. She can't go with me without a chaperone, Robert."

          "I realize that Jefferson, but you have been filling in as her escort. You are simply escorting her to her new estate. I don't see the problem," Robert said, picking at the biscuits on the tea tray. "I trust you'll see to her safety." The duke stabbed him with a pointed look. "It's not like you're interested in our dear Emma, after all. No chance of you ravishing the dear girl, so I don't see what has you in such a lather."

 _Yeah, and just who's going to protect her from me?_  "No, no, no," Jefferson protested.

          Robert cast him a wounded look. "But you promised. This has to be done and I don't want to leave Belle now that she's due to deliver in little over a month. What happens if the baby decides to come early and I'm gone? I'll miss the birth of my first child."

          Jefferson raked a hand through his hair in frustration and groaned. How could he argue with that? "Fine! But I won't like it."

 

*.*.*

 

          Emma settled back in the plush seat opposite Jefferson and closed her eyes, completely ignoring him. Well, she was trying at least. You just couldn't be in such close quarters with Jefferson Madden and ignore him. His very presence commanded attention. Let him think she was asleep. With as little sleep as she'd been getting lately, and the gentle rocking of the coach on its well-oiled springs, it wouldn't take long to lull her to sleep. She covered a yawn with the back of her hand and pulled her fur-lined cloak more securely about herself.

          "I know you're not asleep, Emma. Don't pretend with me," he said, his voice coming out in an irritated growl. "I know this is all your fault."

          "I wasn't pretending," she announced in a defensive tone, his condescension rubbing her the wrong way. She emitted a very unladylike snort and quirked a brow at him. "I'll also have you know I had no choice as to whether or not I wanted to come on this little venture, Jefferson. I was ordered to come along, so here I am."

          "Bloody wonderful," he murmured dryly. "Now I'm going to have to endure two weeks of lustful looks. Two weeks of you begging me to marry you. Two weeks with a constant erection," he grumbled.

          Emma sat forward in her seat with a stunned smile on her lips. "Did you just say —"

          "Shut up, Emma."

          Emma tilted her head to the side, her tongue stuck to the roof of her suddenly dry mouth. She wondered what he would do if she crawled onto his lap. Of course, she could never be so bold to do it in the coach where anyone might be able to see them, but the thought was rather tantalizing.

          "Stop eating me with your eyes, Emma. I promise you won't like the consequences if you disobey me. For two weeks, you will do as I say, when I say and how I say and you'll like it," he threatened, closing his eyes and resting his head against the back of the seat. Maybe if he didn't look at her, he could control his lust from raging out of control.

          A devilish gleam entered her icy emerald eyes and she smiled. She really shouldn't. The coach hadn't even made it out of London yet, but a little devil urged her to do it. "Jefferson?"

          "What?" he asked, refusing to look at her.

          "Does this mean if you tell me to climb into bed with you, I must obey?" she asked in the most innocent tone she could muster.

          "Emma!"

          Emma shrugged, "But you said —"

          Jefferson leaned forward, his nose an inch from hers, his mouth a straight line of irritation. "For the love of everything holy, and my sanity, sit there and shut your mouth."

          Emma closed the distance between them and cupped his face in her hands. "I love you," she said softly and brushed her lips to his.

          Jefferson jerked back, banging his head against the window. He didn't answer her, his glare telling her everything. Emma sat back in the seat and rolled her eyes at him. Stubborn man! But she did have to admit it was rather fun to tease him. She could see many years to come where they could enjoy teasing each other, if he'd only give in. She sighed wearily and tried to get comfortable. It was going to take them several days to get to the estate in Northumberland, which should give her plenty of time to formulate a plan.

          Emma jerked her gaze to him, panic making her gasp. They were going to have to stop at an inn that evening. The inns along the road there were usually full to capacity, she thought with excitement. What if they didn't have room? What if they only had  _one_  room? She squashed the hope which had risen in her chest at the thought of spending the night with him. He'd, no doubt, sleep in the carriage and freeze to death before sharing her bed, no matter how much he claimed he wanted her.

          She certainly wasn't going to broach the subject with him in his present mood. He'd toss her out of the carriage on her arse and make her walk back to London. Emma pushed the thoughts of where they would spend the night to the back of her mind and began rummaging through the basket Mrs. Green, the cook, had prepared for them.

          "What're you doing? Didn't you have breakfast?" he asked, smothering a yawn.

          "No, I wasn't hungry. Now I am," she shrugged, unwrapping and then rewrapping several items. The basket was full of different meats, cheeses and pastries along with several bottles of wine and a loaf of freshly baked bread. Maybe he'd loosen up if he had a glass of wine. She noticed his favorite scotch whiskey was nowhere to be found. Good! "Would you like something? A pastry perhaps? A glass of wine?"

          "What kind of pastries did she pack?" he asked warily. He had a nagging suspicion Belle had helped pack that damn basket. And if she did —

          "Oooh, Jefferson. She packed some of Belle's favorites," Emma said with a squeal of delight.

          "Éclairs?" he asked, rubbing a hand over his eyes to relieve the pressure building behind them. Soon he'd have a full-blown migraine due to the desire raging inside him.

          "How did you know?"

          Jefferson closed his eyes and banged his head three times against the window.  _Well. Just. Shit!_

 

*.*.*

 

          Jefferson watched Emma as she slept across from him on the opposite seat. She had bundled herself so tightly in her cloak only her eyes and nose were visible. It had started snowing again and the small brazier of coals in the coach was doing little to ward off the chill. Emma wasn't speaking to him now, Jefferson thought with a grin. If she wasn't speaking to him, she couldn't inflame his libido with her sexual innuendos and honey-sweet voice which sent a shudder through him. She had been furious with him when he'd taken the éclairs from her, opened the door and tossed them out.

          He just didn't think he had the strength to see her eat the delicate pastry without hauling her onto his lap and tasting other things. Just thinking of all that Chantilly cream and chocolate in her sweet mouth, knowing what she would taste like if he kissed her, had him groaning in discomfort. Damn Belle for packing them! And he knew she was the one responsible. He knew about her obsession and how much Robert enjoyed it.

          Jefferson wondered if Emma would enjoy them as much as Belle did. He could always have their wedding cake made out of nothing but chocolate covered éclairs. That thought had him breaking out in a cold sweat and sitting bolt upright in the seat.

_Where had that come from?_

_Idiot!_ his conscience chimed in.

_I can't marry her. She'll find out the circumstances of my birth and hate me for it._

_How do you know?_

_I just do,_ he argued.

_She might love you enough to overlook it._

_Shut it! No gentle born lady is going to overlook the fact that I'm a bastard._

_And some things just don't matter when the heart is involved._

_No, I can't tell her. It's best if she just finds someone else._

_And doom her to a loveless marriage? How can she be happy with anyone else when she's hopelessly in love with you?_

_She only thinks she's in love with me._

_What if she ends up with a man who will completely destroy that lovely spirit you prize so highly where she's unable to love anyone?_

_Shit!_

          Jefferson's brow knitted into a frown as he continued to watch Emma sleep. She was beginning to curl into herself, shivering from the cold. He was getting bored with the internal battle with his conscience, knowing it wasn't doing a bit of good to change his mind. It would take more than compromising her, more than her love for him, to make him change his mind. He knelt on the floor between the seats and lifted the padded bench to reveal the hidden compartment beneath, pulling out a heavy woolen blanket.

          Emma jerked awake when he laid the blanket over her, grabbing his hand in hers. "It's alright, rabbit. I was just trying to cover you. You were shivering in your sleep," he said softly, twining his fingers with hers.

          "Jefferson?" she asked sleepily. "Will you lie down with me?"

          Jefferson's eyes narrowed on her, wondering what she was up to now, sure she had some sort of seduction in mind. "Why?"

          "I need your heat," she whispered, her voice spreading through him like a brushfire. "There's plenty of room beside me," she coaxed. "I'm so cold. Lie down and warm me."

          "Emma —" he protested halfheartedly, wanting nothing more than to come to her aid even if his motives were entirely selfish.

          "I promise I'll behave if you do."

 _Oh, I am_ so _going to regret this_ , he thought as he lowered himself onto the seat next to her and covered them both with the blanket. Emma opened her cloak and then unbuttoned his jacket. "What are you doing?" he asked, catching her hand in his to stop her.

          "Jefferson, really," she tsked. "I'm trying to dispense with so many layers. How are you supposed to warm me with so many clothes in the way?"

          She might have a point, he thought as he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. Emma slipped her hand inside his jacket and pressed it into the small of his back. She really was freezing and now she was making him shiver. But whether it was from her cold hands or her closeness, he couldn't be certain. She tucked her face into the curve of his neck, her warm breath teasing him. Jefferson ran his hand along her spine, reveling in the feel of her pressed so tightly to his body. He was awed he could just lie with her and hold her like this without his desire getting in the way. He liked the way she fit in his arms, as though she was made to be there.

          Emma sighed, completely content to just lie there with him as the cold finally began to recede from her limbs.  _He's like my own personal heater,_  she thought, stifling a giggle.

          "Jefferson?" she asked hesitantly, not wanting to give him any reason to leave her.

          "Hmm?" he asked with a yawn. The gentle rocking of the coach combined with the warm bundle of his precious girl nestled in his side was slowly lulling him into a pleasant lassitude.

          "Do you still want me?"

          Jefferson's eyes flew open, his arms tightening around her as he stiffened. "You promised, Emma. You promised you would behave. That means no sexy talk!" he growled.

          "It was just a simple question, Jefferson. You should know me well enough by now that when I want to know something, I ask. When I want something, I don't give up until I have it. Now answer the question," she demanded, remaining perfectly still so he wouldn't return to his own seat. Emma was waging an inner battle over what she wanted most. A battle between how much she wanted to touch him and how much she wanted her questions answered.

          It took him a moment to decide whether or not he  _should_  answer. If he answered no, she would know he was lying to her and he wasn't the type of man to lie when she could so easily prove him wrong. "Yes, rabbit. I still want you."

          Emma breathed a sigh of relief and smiled against his neck. "Then why won't you let me make you happy? Why don't you want me as your wife?"

          "Emma, it's not as simple as you make it sound."

          "Sure it is. Man meets woman. They fall in love. They get married. They have a family. They grow old together. Happy ending. What's so complicated about that?" she asked, slipping her leg between both of his.

          Jefferson relaxed into her embrace. He knew he shouldn't, that the more comfortable he became with her, the harder it would be to keep his hands still. "How about this theory? And you have to take our society into account, and all that rubbish," he said, actually enjoying the conversation. "Man meets woman. Woman sets her cap for him because he has a very lucrative title. Man makes an offer. They get betrothed. They find out they have no desire for each other, no love. They are now bound by the betrothal contract and end up in a loveless marriage. No children. No family. They live apart from each other and end up miserable."

          "Jefferson, that's horrible!"

          "But look how many times we've seen it happen over the years. Why do you think Robbie didn't want to marry? He didn't want a woman who was just looking for a title. He wanted a woman who would see him for the man he was," Jefferson explained.

          Emma raised up on an elbow so she could look into his warm grey eyes. "But, Jefferson, that doesn't explain why you don't want to marry  _me._  I fell in love with  _you_. I couldn't care less that you have a title. I am  _not_  my mother."

          "I don't want you to love me, Emma. Your heart is too precious to waste on me," he sighed softly, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. "You need to find someone worthy of you. Someone who will love you in return. Someone to give you children and cherish you every day of your life."

          Emma placed her hand on his heart and dropped a kiss on the corner of his mouth. "I want  _you_ , Jefferson. My heart wants  _you_. I want to be  _your_  wife and have  _your_ children," she insisted, a tear sliding from her eye. "I want to share your bed and your body and know that you love me. I want so badly to make you happy."

          Jefferson fought against the lump of emotion which welled up in his throat, fighting and losing. She was steadily chipping away at the wall he'd built around his heart and he feared soon she would break through and imbed herself there forever.

          Emma laid her head on his chest over his heart and closed her eyes, weary of fighting with him. "You might as well stop trying to push me away. There's nothing in the world you could tell me to make me stop loving you. And whatever these reasons are that you have for not wanting to marry me are rubbish." She leaned up and kissed the pulse point just under his jaw. "There's only so long you can fight the inevitable, my darling."

          "So you say," he whispered against her hair, his voice filled with sadness.

          "So I know."

          "Go to sleep, Emma. We've still got a long journey ahead of us."

          It didn't take Emma long to fall asleep as content as she was lying in his arms, his warm chest her pillow. She was confident it was just a matter of time before he gave in, before he loved her, before he asked her. It was inevitable he  _would_  belong to her and she would fight tooth and nail to make it so.

 

*.*.*

 

          "Robbie, darling, would you like to explain to me why Henderson had to personally remove Lord Wendell from the premises? There was quite a scuffle, mind you," Belle commented dryly as she breezed into Robert's study and sat down carefully on his lap.

          “Oomph," he groaned as she squirmed herself into a comfortable position. "You're getting a wee bit heavy, sweetheart."

          Belle stuck her tongue out at him. "Answer the question."

          "That man is not welcome in my home," Robert answered simply, offering no other explanation.

          "Robert."

          The duke quirked his brow, deliberately avoiding the question.

          Belle leaned forward and ran her tongue over that sensitive spot just below his ear, causing a shiver to run up his back. "Do we really need to resort to this when we can't just now spend a leisurely hour in bed?"

          Robert sighed and rubbed a weary hand over his eyes. "It's just not a good idea to have him here while Killian is staying with us. And I simply can't stand the man," he said evasively, answering her, yet not explaining.

          "Robbie!" she shouted in frustration. Her eyes narrowed on his and he could feel the probing little tentacles of her gift reach out to him.

          "Oh, no, you don't," he hissed, throwing up a mental wall to block her. "This is not for you, love."

          "Why?"

          "This is a feud which goes way back to when we were all at Eton. It's between Killian and Malcolm and we are not going to interfere. Let's just leave it at that. Alright?" he said firmly, his tone stern.

          Belle settled back in his arms, pursing her lips into a pout. "Does it have anything to do with why Jefferson is so determined to keep Wendell away from Emma? Because if it concerns my cousin, Robert, it is indeed my concern."

          Robert placed his hands on her extended belly and rubbed them in soothing circles. "He's active today," he murmured with a satisfied smile.

          "If you were carrying all this extra weight around, you wouldn't look quite so pleased," Belle grumbled. Her eyes fell on the pile of mail on the desk. "You've been ignoring the post again, haven't you?"

          "No, I looked through it. I think there are a few in there for you as well," he muttered distractedly, smiling as his child kicked again beneath his hand.

          "Who would write me here?"

          Robert shrugged noncommittally and nuzzled her ear. "Dunno, sweetheart."

          Belle rifled through the large stack and found one letter addressed to Belle Whitmore. That made more sense. No return address. She took the letter opener and sliced through the envelope.

 

 

_My dear Belle —_

 

 _I need you. I cannot tell you why in this letter. Just know_ _I will be arriving in England within the next three months or so and need to see you._

 

_Your friend —_

_Esme Petrov_

 

          Robert took the letter from her. "Who is Esme Petrov? I've never heard of you speak of anyone from your home before."

          "I've been busy of late, Robbie. What with you chasing me all over London, seducing me in gardens with chocolate and kisses and éclairs and such. I just haven't had time to think about home, much less tell you all about it." Belle folded the note and put it in the pocket of her skirt, wondering what Esme needed to talk to her about and what kind of trouble she'd gotten herself into now. At least she had several months before she had to worry about it.

          "Do you think they've killed each other yet?" Robert asked as he stood up with her in his arms and walked over to the sofa.

          She giggled, knowing all too well to whom he was referring. Yet she still found no harm in playing coy. "Who?"

          "Jefferson and Emma," he chuckled, settling her on the sofa and lying down next to her, drawing her into his arms.

          Belle bit the top button off his shirt and slid her hand inside. "They're probably doing what we're doing right now if I've read their emotions correctly. Remember, my darling, I know what's been going on in this house over the past several weeks."

          "Are they quite as bad as we were?" he asked, nipping at the lobe of her ear as his hand trailed over her hip.

          "Worse."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Oh, the deliciousness of it all. *sigh* Well at least for me it is, lol. Wonder what's going to happen when they get to the inn ... will they make it to the inn? What did Wendell want and really ... why do the friends have such a vendetta against the man aside from him being a lecherous fiend? Just a few thoughts to leave you with lol. Would really love to hear from you all, so don't hesitate to drop me a line.


	6. Chapter 6

          Emma groaned as Jefferson left her in the carriage to see what Travers wanted. Robert wouldn't let them leave London without four outriders, amongst them his most loyal man. Did he really think Jefferson couldn't take care of her? She pulled the blanket more securely about her and scooted to where he'd been sitting, trying to absorb the heat he'd left behind. They'd only stopped once to change horses and stretch their legs. It was just too cold for more than that. She was ready for a hot bath and to rest her weary bones on a nice soft bed.

          Jefferson climbed back into the coach and settled on the seat next to her, pulling her onto his lap and wrapping the blanket around them. "Travers says it shouldn't be much longer before we reach the inn," he said, shivering from the cold.

          "I've always hated traveling," she lamented. "But I must say I've enjoyed this trip more than any other. I like being out in the country and away from London, but the cold just makes it so much less enjoyable than it could be otherwise." She trailed her lips along his jaw and slipped her warm hands into his jacket.

          "Yes, rabbit, it's been most enjoyable," Jefferson reluctantly agreed. He'd be a liar if he didn't admit - at the very least to himself - he enjoyed spending time with the little heiress. Her ever changing temperament amused him, her quick mind intrigued him, and her soft looks and sweet smiles fueled the fire in his blood. She was, indeed, most enjoyable.

          It wasn't long, however, before he changed his mind about the trip. The innkeeper was more than happy to give them a room, but there was a slight problem. There was only one. He groaned, cursing his luck.

          "Milord, I could have a cot brought in for you if you require it," he offered. "If you and your wife would be so kind as to wait in the common room, I'll have dinner brought in for you."

          "A cot will be appreciated. The wife likes to kick me in her sleep." He just knew he'd pay for that remark later. Jefferson closed his eyes and prayed for patience, but he didn't correct the little man about his marital status. Let him think he and Emma were married. The less the man knew, the less problems for them. "And my men?"

          Mr. Roundtree nodded his head emphatically. "Yes, milord. We have plenty of room in the stables for your men. As well as for your horses. Everything will be taken care of to your satisfaction."

          "Is there any way I can get a hot bath delivered to our room?" he asked hopefully. He and Emma were near frozen. He needed to make sure they restocked the supply of coals for the journey north.

          "I'm sorry, milord, but my staff is already overrun with so many guests trying to avoid the approaching storm. I just don't see how we'd be able to provide a bath."

          Jefferson nodded and escorted Emma to the common room to a table set near the fire. She pulled her chair as close to it as possible and stretched out her hands to warm them. "No bath, huh?"

          "'Fraid not, rabbit. Don't worry, though, you'll have a fire in the room to keep you warm," he grumbled. "I wish I'd thought to send Travers farther ahead this morning to have everything prepared for our arrival."

          "This isn't so bad," she shrugged.

          "What part of this is good, Emma?"

          She grinned at him cheekily, her dimples making an appearance. "We're together."

          Rochefort groaned.

          The barmaid brought them two large bowls of hearty stew and a loaf of warm crusty bread. Emma ate hers slowly, watching Jefferson with raised brows. You'd think he hadn't eaten in a week. She wondered if all his appetites were equally voracious and the thought frightened her ... in a good way. Heat pooled low in her belly as goosebumps erupted on her arms.

          "Go on upstairs, Emma. I'll be up later," he said, hailing the barmaid and ordering a bottle of scotch. Apparently, he was planning on drinking himself into oblivion before joining her in bed.

          "You have one hour, Jefferson," Emma warned, her narrowed gaze icy. "One hour or I'm coming down to get you. And since I'll have already been abed, I'm not promising I'll be dressed appropriately."

          The earl watched her march towards the stairs and raked a frustrated hand through his hair. What was it about the women in his life threatening him at every turn? Didn't she know he needed time to cool his desire before having to share a room with her? He poured himself a drink and tossed it back, followed by three more and still he sat in the common room thinking of Emma curled up in that bed. A bed he wasn't allowed to share with her.  _Shit!_

          Emma let out a frustrated groan when she entered the room and found the little cot against the far wall for their use. Why couldn't he have just left well enough alone? The bed which dominated the room was more than big enough for both of them to share.  _Stubborn man!_  She had enjoyed sleeping in his arms in the coach and wasn't willing to let him push her away again. She studied the offending object and knew for a fact his long frame would never fit on it. She was going to have to make the sacrifice for his comfort.

          Emma quickly disrobed and laid her traveling outfit over the back of the room's only chair to prevent it from wrinkling. She hadn't been about to ask the men, frozen as they were, to unload her trunk for a wardrobe change. She could have a bath and change her clothes once they reached the estate. She needed to remember to ask Jefferson if it had a name, the estate. She stripped down to her lacy shift and climbed onto the lumpy cot, pulling the blankets around her and settling in to watch the door.

          She hated waiting, never having been a patient woman. Where was he? No doubt drowning himself in scotch. She turned over and faced the wall, not wanting him to know how badly it bothered her that he hadn't come upstairs with her. She sighed and tried to get comfortable, a seemingly impossible task on such a lumpy excuse for a bed.

          It was nearing midnight when Jefferson stuck his head through the door to see if Emma was finally asleep, cursing when he saw her curled on the tiny cot. Idiot innkeeper didn't tell him it was more suitable in size for a child. It was a good thing Emma was petite. But then, next to his large frame, everyone was petite. The bed had been turned down and piled high with blankets to keep them warm.

          It shouldn't be too difficult to lift Emma's sleeping form and place her gently in the bed without waking her, he thought with a smile. He should have no difficulty sleeping in the same bed if she was already asleep. Wrong! Emma let out a shriek fit to wake the dead as he lifted her in his arms, an arm flailing out of the blanket wrapped around her.

          "Emma, shut it! You're going to wake the entire inn with that bloody noise," he scolded, his voice rising to be heard over her shrieks.

          "Jefferson! Anyone else would've tapped me on the shoulder, or shaken me gently. Anyone but you!" she hissed, wrapping her free arm around his neck to hold onto him as he stalked toward the bed.

          "You really are going to kick me in your sleep, aren't you?" he asked dryly. Who would've thought she was a violent sleeper? He dropped her on the bed, the blanket wrapped around her falling to the floor. Jefferson forgot to breathe. She didn't have anything on but a flimsy shift which just screamed peek-a-boo.

          "Are you alright?" she asked, pulling the bedcovers up to her chin to cover her semi-nakedness. "Jefferson?"

          "Go to sleep, Emma," he commanded, his voice rough with desire.

          A blush spread up her neck as she watched him walk to the other side of the bed and begin to strip his clothes off. Jacket. Waistcoat. Cravat. Boots. "Are you really going to lay there and eat me with your eyes, love? Do you remember what I told you would happen if you continued to do so?" he asked, the warning clear in his voice.

          Emma swallowed the lump of anticipation in her throat and lowered her eyes. Oh, how she really wanted to see what he uncovered next. She heard the rustle of his shirt as he pulled it over his head and she couldn't help herself, peeking at him from beneath her lashes. It was her turn to forget to breathe as he uncovered all that glorious golden flesh of his chest to her gaze. He was more beautiful than Michelangelo's David, and she wanted nothing more than to touch him.

          "Emma," he growled. "Turn over and go to sleep."

          "I can't even look?" she pouted.

          "Emma, you can look, you can touch ... hell, you can do anything you want. Just say the word," he said, his voice a ragged whisper, coming to hover over her as he crawled onto the bed, his face mere inches from hers. It would be so easy for her to simply lean up and claim his lips. It would be all the answer he'd need. He'd left his breeches on, knowing she wouldn't let him make love to her without that dreaded question.

          Her expression was so hopeful it nearly crushed him. "You've changed your mind?"

          "No, sweetheart," he shook his head as he collapsed back on the mattress and pulled her into his embrace. "I haven't. I still won't marry you."

          Emma slid her hand up his chest, reveling in the feel of his bare skin beneath her fingertips. She could finally touch him freely, all of him if she liked. "For nearly a month now, all you've wanted is to have me in your bed. Now that you've finally gotten me here, you can't touch me. It's a bloody tragedy." She ran her hand down over his hard, flat stomach and he gasped, catching her hand before it could stray any lower.

          "No, Emma, I can't touch you. The price is too high. I won't do that to you."

          "Why can't —"

          It was taking every ounce of control he possessed not to touch her more than he already had, but he wouldn't deny her his warmth as she nestled into his side. "Sweetheart, I'm not playing our games this evening. I don't have the strength of will to stop when you ask me. Can't you understand?"

          "Yes," she said, her voice filled with hurt. She could feel him slipping away from her again. "You'll stay with me, though? You won't leave me in the night?"

          "Yes, rabbit, I'll stay."

          Emma turned over in his arms and he pulled her tightly back against his body. "Jefferson ... I love you."

          Jefferson didn't answer. He couldn't. The emotions raging through him were too powerful to allow him to speak. Because as he laid there and held her in his arms, her words so softly uttered, made the final crack in the wall around his heart. He knew then that he loved her, that he would always love her. And because of his stubborn refusal to marry her, he was going to lose her. He was going to lose her to someone she didn't love, someone who would never love her as much as he himself did. And they were both going to be miserable and lonely.

 

*.*.*

 

          Robert Gold, Duke of Sheffield, climbed out of the ring and placed a finger to his swelling eye. "That was a lucky punch, Killian. I was distracted."

          Killian St. James, Earl Easterly, shook his head to clear the ringing in his ears and ran a hand over his mouth which was now sporting a split lip. "Rubbish, Gold. You just bobbed when you should've weaved, is all."

          "Well, come on then and let's have a drink."

          "Should've known better than to get in the ring with you," Killian chortled as he pulled his shirt on. "Only man I know who can actually go three rounds with me and give as good as he gets."

          "You should know since it was you who trained me," Robert said, remembering their school days as he led the way into the lounge. "How're the renovations to your townhouse coming along?"

          Killian laughed heartily. "Trying to get rid of me, are you? Scared I'm going to run off with that lovely wife of yours?" he asked teasingly.

          "Of course not, no, Killian. Besides, if you ran off with Belle, you'd bring her back within the week."

          Killian's brows disappeared into his hairline as they raised in surprise. "Trouble in paradise?"

          It was Robert's turn to laugh. "No, my friend, it's nothing like that. But Belle is just a very unique woman, shall we say," he murmured, his thin lips curling up into a secretive smile as he thought of his beloved Belle.

          A footman appeared next to Robert's chair and leaned down to whisper discreetly that he had a visitor. Robert frowned. Only members were allowed in the club. "Who is it, MacKenzie?"

          "A mister Sinclair, Your Grace."

          Robert sat back in his chair and told the footman to show the man in. "My solicitor," he said to Killian by way of an explanation. "Can't imagine what's so important the man has to disturb me at the club."

          "Your Grace! Thank Heavens, I found you," George Sinclair gasped out, his breathing labored as he was led into the lounge and ushered into a seat.

          "Sit down, George. What can I do for you?" Robert asked, pouring the man a drink.

          Sinclair tossed the scotch back and nearly choked. "I beg your pardon, Your Grace, but a matter has arisen which I thought you should be made aware of. Lord Wendell has tried several times to see you about this matter, but he has been barred entry into your home."

          Killian's hand tightened on his glass to the point Robert thought it was going to shatter. Damnit! He was hoping he could've kept the two from coming into contact with each other.

          "Why was Malcolm trying to see you, Rob?" he asked, his voice full of menace.

          "Yes, Sinclair," Robert sneered, wishing to hear the answer for himself. "I'm sure you're here to tell us why the blighter was in such dire need to speak to me."

          "Your Grace, Lord Wendell is in possession of a betrothal contract signed by the late Baron Morrison. He wanted to speak to you about when you were planning on arranging the marriage now that you are Lady Morrison's guardian."

          "God's teeth, man!" Robert shouted, borrowing one of Belle's most common expletives as he rose angrily to his feet. The glass shattered in Killian's hand as he too rose from his seat, fury evident in his cool beryl eyes. A footman rushed forward with a towel to wrap around Killian's bleeding hand. "Why has he waited this long to come forward? Are you certain it's legitimate? He hasn't forged Morrison's signature, has he?"

          "It's one hundred percent legitimate, Your Grace. Lord Wendell wanted to wait until after the holidays to present the matter to you. When you wouldn't see him, he had his solicitor contact me to have this matter resolved," Sinclair explained. "I have the agreement with me if you would like to see it."

          Robert took the document and dropped down in his chair. He recognized Daniel Morrison's bold scrawl at the bottom. "Lord Malcolm Wendell … Lady Emma Morrison … matrimony … Bloody hell!" he cursed, reading it through.

          Sinclair rose and prepared to leave. "Am I to assume you will take it from here, Your Grace?"

          Robert grabbed the little man by his cravat and pulled him forward. "You are to tell no one that you were able to speak with me today, George. Am I making myself clear? If we are to prevent such a tragedy from occurring, we have to move quickly."

          Sinclair nodded with a vigorous bobbing of his head. He was paid a hefty retainer to cater to the Duke of Sheffield's wishes and he knew if he wanted to continue to draw his stipend, he would see his commands carried out. "What do you plan to do?"

          "She can't very well marry that blighter if she's married to someone else, now can she?" Robert asked through clenched teeth. And he was going to have to make sure this was resolved before Belle found out. She'd be bloody well furious and would place the blame firmly on his head. He'd promised to protect her cousin when he'd taken her into his home and Belle would not see him honoring this contract as protecting Emma.

          "No, she most assuredly can't have two husbands."

          Robert grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair and sprinted to the door, Killian on his heels. "Where are we going?"

          "What do you mean  _we_? This isn't your problem, Killian," Robert said as they climbed into his carriage, shouting directions to the driver.

          "If it has to do with Malcolm, then it most certainly _is_  my problem. After all, he's the reason I came back to London. It's high time he paid for the crimes he's committed against me and so many others. I'm not going to let him hurt anyone else."

          Five minutes later, Robert bounded through the front door of his townhouse shouting orders to his valet to pack him a bag and for Henderson to send a message to the stables to have their two fastest horses saddled. "Belle!" he yelled, his voice carrying through the house. "Belle!"

          "I'm here, Robbie," she huffed, poking her head around the door which led into the parlor. "Why are you shouting the house down?"

          Robert gathered her into his arms and buried his face in her neck, seeking comfort and understanding only she could provide. "I have to go to Northumberland."

          "Why?" she asked anxiously. "Has something happened?"

          "I have to speak with Jefferson about an urgent matter," he hedged, refusing to meet her gaze.

          "You're blocking me, Robert Gold. What have you done?" she asked, her eyes narrowing on him as she pushed out of his arms.

          "I've done absolutely nothing, but I promise that when I return, everything will be resolved to everyone's satisfaction," he promised, pulling her back into his embrace. "And I will only be a few days. We still have plenty of time before the baby is born," he assured her.

          Killian dropped his small valise of clothes in the doorway of the parlor and waited for Robert to say goodbye to his wife. "Ready when you are, Rob."

          Belle wrapped her arms around his neck and thrust her hands into his collar length hair, holding him in place for her kiss. "Come home to me safely, my darling."

          Robert kissed her back, pouring his love into her. "I promise. I love you," he murmured and left her standing there in the parlor.

 

*.*.*

 

          Emma moaned in her sleep and cracked one eye open to see dawn's pale gray light peeking through the shabby curtains on the window. She could feel Jefferson pressed up against her back, his face resting in the curve of her neck. His arm was stretched out beneath her head, his fingers twined with hers. His other arm was slung over her waist, his hand covering her breast. She should be alarmed, but all she could think of was that once they were married, she would wake like this many a morning. Though how she was ever going to make that happen she didn't know. She had sure last night, sharing the same bed, he would have finally given in.

          No. He’d held firm in his determination to remain a bachelor. _Stubborn, stubborn, stubborn!_ She was so disgusted, if she’d been standing, she would’ve stamped her foot. She was just as determined as he. She would have a proposal from him and a declaration of love or she wouldn’t do it, no matter how much she wanted to be his wife.

          "What are you thinking about so hard this early in the morning?" he asked, yawning against her ear and then dropping a kiss on her neck, the hand covering her breast beginning to roll her nipple between his fingers.

          "Um —" she mumbled, biting her lip to stifle a moan.

          "Um is good, love." He trailed his hand over her flat stomach and slipped his hand into her silk drawers, covering her with his hand.

          "Jefferson," she gasped, his name a caress on her lips. He'd never touched her so intimately before, their clothes always acting as a protective barrier between them. Heat flooded her, pooling between her thighs as she tried to remember the simple act of breathing.

          He slid a finger into her and felt her shiver. "You still want me, don't you, Emma?" He whispered urgently, moving it deeper, his palm pressing hard against her pubic bone. "Tell me, rabbit. Tell me you want me."

          Emma was incapable of speech. The pleasure was too intense, and she squirmed against his hand as his palm pressed into her throbbing clit, digging her nails into his thigh. His lips branded her neck as he nipped her gently under her ear, sucking the flesh into his mouth.

          "Let me touch you, Jefferson," she pleaded, her breath coming in sharp ragged pants now.

          He huffed a short mirthless laugh full of regret against the shell of her ear. "Tell me, Emma. Tell me you want me," he taunted, taking what she had always so freely given. He needed to hear he hadn't broken what was between them with his stubborn refusal to give her what she wanted so desperately.

          Realization dawned on Emma and she stilled in his arms, feeling as though the world had dropped from under her feet. He wanted her to tell him that she wanted him. _Want_ , not love. "No."

          Jefferson stopped at that one word, his desire so strong for her he had to bite his lip to stop himself from screaming in frustration. "You don't want me? You  _don't_  want me to make love to you? Because, sweetheart," he barked with a derisive snort, "your body is telling me a different story."

          Emma turned over in his arms and cupped his face in her hands, kissing his unyielding lips, pouring her heart into it. "I  _love_  you, Jefferson. I don't just want you; I  _love_  you. And whether you want my love or not, you have it," she vowed, trailing kisses along his jaw. "Do I want you to make love to me? Yes, I do. More than you can imagine, I do. But I won't. I've given you everything I am, Jefferson. All I have left is my body. How can I let you have my body when you've rejected my heart? You need to accept both."

          Jefferson flung the bedcovers off and rose to his feet, fury etched on his face. "You don't know what it will do to us if we marry, Emma. You're right, love. I want your love, your body, your heart,  _everything_. But when you find out who I really am, everything will go to shit! You'll take it all away and hate me for marrying you. I will _not_ spend the next fifty years with a woman who can't bear the sight of me," he shouted at her, pulling on his clothes.

          Emma sat up in bed, the covers falling into her lap and exposing her scantily clad body to his gaze. "Do you have a tail?" she deadpanned. "Have you ever murdered someone in cold blood? Do you have an affinity for little boys? _What_ , Jefferson? _What_ could be so horrible?"

          "A tail?" he blustered, trying not to laugh.  _Really? A tail? Was that the best she could do?_

          "Don't you dare laugh at me, Madden!"

          "No, I've never killed anyone. And hell no, I do not like little boys," he said, the smirk remaining on his face.

          "Then there's nothing to keep us from marrying. Those things I might have had an objection to," she grinned as she rose to dress. "Although, it might take some getting used to, the tail."

          Emma went to him and placed a kiss in the center of his chest before he finished doing up the buttons. Jefferson wrapped his arms about her and squeezed. "Are you sure those are your only objections?"

          "Yes, my love. What could possibly be worse than that?" she asked, wrinkling her nose in distaste.

          "I can think of one, but the point is moot," he said with a deep sigh of regret.

          "You're so bloody stubborn."

          "Get dressed so we can be on our way," he commanded with a smile, pushing her towards the chair where her clothes were laid out.

          "Ask me, Jefferson," she pressed, crossing her arms over her chest as she stared him down with stubborn defiance shining in her emerald eyes.

          "No."

          "You do realize once we reach Northumberland resistance will be futile," she stated with a wicked grin. "We'll have that big master bedroom to share. And a warm fire. And Belle tells me there's a huge marble bathtub sunken into the floor the size of a small pond. Can you just imagine —" Emma stopped her litany of enticements as she heard the door close behind Jefferson as he escaped the temptation brought on by her words.

          She giggled. He wouldn't be able to resist much longer, she thought as she fastened her gown and drew on her fur-lined boots. One way or the other, once they reached the ducal estate, something wonderful was going to happen. She just didn't know who would give in first.

 

*.*.*

 

          Storm clouds were brewing to the west when Jefferson stepped out of the inn. He'd been worried for some time now that they wouldn't reach Winterhaven before the storm. As frigid as it already was, they didn't need to get caught in a storm which would make the roads impassable. If they became stranded, frostbite would be a real concern and he liked his toes just the way they were. The ducal estate was no more than half a day's ride from where they were. If necessary, they could take the horses and leave the coach, but he didn't know how Emma would react to having to leave her belongings behind until the roads were passable once again.

          Jefferson had misjudged Emma. His first impression of her had been an illusion. She'd been acting at her mother's behest. He'd thought her another spoiled little debutante set out on the marriage mart searching for a wealthy, titled husband. He couldn't have been more wrong. She was sweet, yet stubborn; loving and passionate. Holy hell, was she passionate. And she fit into his arms like she was made to be there.

          Pushing such thoughts aside, he turned to Travers. "Travers, I want you to send the men ahead to Winterhaven to have them prepare for our arrival this evening. With the storm moving in, I don't want to take any unnecessary chances."

          The man moved off to carry out the earl’s orders as Emma joined Jefferson by the coach and slipped her hand into his. "Why didn't you join me for breakfast? Avoiding me again?" she complained.

          "No, my little rabbit. Just making preparations for the remainder of the journey." He opened the door of the coach to assist her inside. "Ready to go?"

          "I suppose," she agreed with a smattering of reluctance. What she wanted was irrelevant. "The sooner we arrive there, the sooner we can finally get warm. I don't know if I'm going to enjoy living somewhere so cold. One morning, I'll be like to find icicles dangling from my toes."

          Jefferson settled on the seat next to her and drew a blanket onto their laps, slipping his arm around her and drawing her close. "No, sweetheart. You just need to find the right man to keep those toes warm," he teased.

          Emma snuggled into his embrace and pressed her face into his warm neck. "I already have." When he started to protest, she pressed her finger to his lips. "Jefferson, don't. Don't argue with me this morning, please. Just sit back and enjoy the moment. If this is all we have, can't we just enjoy it?"

          Jefferson sat back and rubbed a hand wearily over his eyes, settling deeper into the cushions. If only it were that simple. He wanted nothing more than to enjoy her, but her price was too high. He didn't feel as if he were being selfish in his refusal to marry her. On the contrary, he was trying to protect her. Why couldn't the foolish girl see that? Now that he'd admitted to himself that he loved her, he was even more convinced he couldn't condemn her to marriage to him. He wouldn't.

          Emma's sleepy voice cut into his musings. "Jefferson, I'm beginning to think that marriage is over-rated."

          Jefferson's eyes flew open in surprise. "I beg your pardon? Did I hear you correctly? I could've sworn you just said —"

          She poked him in the ribs. "You heard me, Madden. I'm beginning to think marriage is an unnecessary evil. Why can't two people just be together and be happy?  _We_  could be happy if it wasn't for the contract which would bind us together. That is your only objection, isn't it?"

          "Emma, that would make you my mistress. You would  _not_  be happy as a mistress. You were raised to expect marriage, just as any lady of quality should," he said, quelling the pleasure that simple idea brought him.

          Emma frowned thoughtfully. What if she  _could_  be his mistress? They could be together, and she wouldn't have to worry about ever marrying. On the other hand, what if his desire for her faded. He'd never admitted to loving her. She knew he cared for her and that he wanted her, but what if he tired of her? She'd be ruined for anyone else. Children would be an impossibility for her. How could she doom a child to that fate when it would have to go through life branded a bastard? Not that it would matter to her. She would love their children unconditionally, just as she loved him, but somehow, she knew in her heart Jefferson would have strong objections to that.

          "What if that's the only way we can be together?" she asked, her voice small and uncertain.

          "No."

          "But -"

          "No, Emma." His voice was firm, brooking no objection. It would be so easy for him to take what she was offering, to spend his life with her without the complications of marriage. It wouldn't matter then that he was a bastard. But she would no longer be accepted in polite society. How could he - in good conscience - put her through that? He didn't think her love for him could withstand such a blow.

          Leaning back so she could look into his eyes, she asked, "Is your secret really so bad you would throw away an entire future filled with laughter and happiness? A future with me?"

          "Yes, Emma, it's that bad," he whispered, tucking her head under his chin so he didn't have to look at her pained expression. He wanted to kiss away her sadness and tell her how he really felt, but the words stuck in his throat. "We're going to have to accept it and move on. You have your whole life ahead of you and I'm holding you back."

          "You're not suggesting —" A tiny gasp escaped her lips, her eyes wide with horror.

          "Once this trip is over, you're going to go about your duties trying to find a husband and I'm going to disappear from your life." His arms tightened around her, rendering his words useless, the emotions welling in him denying the hurtful words spewing from his lips. "I'm going to leave London so you won't be able to tempt me."

          Emma fell silent, her heart breaking. Her chest hurt so badly, it was difficult for her to breathe. What was happening to them? She'd finally pushed him past the breaking point, and it was all her fault. Why shouldn't she fight for what she wanted ... no needed? She didn't want to think about returning to the London season with the overwhelming avarice. The fever to make the perfect match utmost in every new debutante's mind. It was absolutely disgusting, and she wanted no part of it. Tears coursed silently down her face as she buried it against the front of his jacket.

          It was time to change tactics and see how well he liked their new game. She would give him what he wanted. He didn't want her love or affection any longer. No more chocolate kisses while she sat on his lap in the parlor. No more teasing and hot chocolate in the kitchen in the wee hours of the morning. She would give him passing civility and see how long it took for him to realize what he was tossing away. But she would not marry. She would not have a loveless marriage. He had introduced her to passion, to love, to desire and she wouldn't settle for anything less than what he'd made her want so desperately.

          "Emma?" Jefferson asked tentatively, distressed by her silence. When had she ever remained silent on an issue where her feelings were involved? Her and her damn feelings. For that matter, when had she ever remained silent period?

          "I have nothing to say to you just now, Jefferson," was her quiet answer.

          Well, at least, she wasn't throwing a tantrum as she had in the drawing room. The same tantrum which had landed them almost making love against the door. Jefferson shuddered at the memory, remembering her heat, her passion. He still wanted her, would always want her and he couldn't remain in temptation's path. At least not until she was safely married.

          "We've still another six hours to Winterhaven. It's going to be mighty boring if we can't hold a civil conversation," he remarked dryly. He'd never been able to stand the cold silence and tension between two people who cared for each other but couldn't speak the words to break it.

          "So that's the name of the estate? Winterhaven?" she asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.

          "Yes, I thought Robbie had told you that, at least."

          "No," she murmured absently.

          "Does this mean you're going to talk to me?"

          "Jefferson, darling, go to the devil!" Emma dried her eyes, jerked the blanket from him and moved to the opposite seat. Her lovely mouth turned up into the bright smile she reserved for those undeserving of her warmth. Those she was forced to make polite conversation with at the _ton’s_ mundane functions.

          Jefferson felt his stomach begin to churn. He knew that look all too well after spending so much time with her of late. That was her I'm-only-being-nice-because-it's-the-civil-thing-to-do smile — and he absolutely hated it. She was up to something and he knew it didn't bode well for him. He sighed mournfully and rested his head back against the seat, already missing her warmth.

          "You know it's going to get colder in here as we travel further north, despite the brazier of coals. Are you sure you want to sit way over there when you could sit with me and share my heat?" he asked, watching her through hooded eyes.

          Emma turned to the window and pulled the shade back, refusing to speak to him, refusing even to look in his direction. Jefferson closed his eyes, rolling them back in their sockets. Why was it every woman in his life - at some point - turned against him? Well, he really couldn't say that about Belle. Belle had been a true and loyal friend to him since she'd met and married his best friend.

_Don't worry about it, old boy. As soon as Belle finds out how horribly you've treated Emma, that'll change._

          Jefferson stifled a groan, wondering how things could get any worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Oh, Jefferson, don't you know it's not wise to say something like that!? Especially with a storm coming? *sigh* Next chapter ... things get … "heated" shall we say? Much love to you all!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This chapter contains adult themes and situations. There is smut in this chapter … but then you were expecting that, right? Reader discretion is advised.

          Things got a whole lot worse as they traveled north. The storm clouds which had been threatening since morning opened up and began dumping snow across the countryside. The wind picked up, dropping the temperature below freezing and making a blinding wall of white impossible to see through.

          "Damnit, we should've stayed at the inn," he lamented quietly to the stillness within the coach. Jefferson let the shade fall on the coach window, his brow creased in a worried frown, wondering how much farther they would be able to travel in the storm. He'd waited until Emma had fallen asleep before pulling her into his lap for warmth so she might benefit as well as him. He was glad she was asleep. He didn't want her to worry about the dangers they now faced with the storm. He wasn't surprised when the coach stopped, and Travers knocked on the door.

          "Milord, there are fallen trees in the road. I must advise that we leave the coach until the road can be cleared and proceed on horseback," he said, his voice grave.

          Jefferson nodded. "Yes, I think that would be best. Have the team loosed from the coach and we'll ride the remainder of the way." Travers closed the door and went to see about his duty as the earl shook Emma gently, rousing her from the deep sleep she'd fallen into. "Wake up, rabbit," he murmured gently, "Emma, wake up."

          Emma woke with a start and glared at Jefferson upon finding herself snuggled onto his lap. "Jefferson!"

          He grabbed her upper arms and gave her a little shake to quell the tantrum he was certain she was working up to. "Not now, Emma. We've run into a bit of a problem."

          Her eyes narrowed on him, instantly suspicious. "What sort of problem?"

          He lifted the shade on the window, revealing the endless ocean of white. "Snow. A never-ending sea of snow we're going to have to travel through. There are trees down in the road blocking the only road and we're going to have to go the rest of the way on horseback," he explained. Her eyes revealed a glimmer of fear, but she didn't say a word. She nodded and began gathering up their blankets. She had courage, he had to give her that. Just one more reason to love her, he thought bitterly.

          "I take it there's no shelter to be found anywhere?" she asked dubiously. How the hell could they have gotten into such dire straits while she'd been napping?

          "We passed the last inn nearly two hours ago. It will be quicker to travel to Winterhaven instead of doubling back."

          Emma ground her teeth together in frustration. She hated to ride horses, never having taken an interest in her father's favorite hobby and she certainly didn't want to have to admit that to Jefferson. The few times they'd gone riding together while chaperoning Robert and Belle, she'd barely managed to remain in the saddle.  _Admit it, girl, you're an abysmal rider,_ she groaned inwardly. She did have a certain amount of pride. Unfortunately, where that man was concerned, it hadn't been evident of late. She turned the handle on the door and the wind whipped it out of her hand.

          Emma turned fearful eyes on Jefferson and blurted, "I don't know how to ride!"

          "What?" he shrieked over the howling wind. "You're a lady, Emma! How the hell did you get by without riding lessons? Besides, we've gone riding together, so I know for a fact you know the basics."

          "Do you really think we need to debate my lack of equestrian skills just now, Madden? I might know enough to get by with a ride in the park, but do you really want to put it to the test in this mess?" she shouted back, the cold creeping into the coach and causing her to shudder.

          Jefferson didn't answer as he grabbed her hand and hauled her out into the snow, sinking up to his shins. Damn! How much snow had fallen since the coach had stopped? Travers shouted over the din of the howling wind to draw his attention to the horse waiting for him. He wrapped a blanket around Emma and drew the hood of her cloak over her head before setting her in the saddle.

          Jefferson bundled himself in the other blanket and mounted behind her, wrapping his arms tightly around her so she didn't fall. "Alright? Warm enough?" he asked, knowing it wouldn't be long before they would be freezing.

          Emma's teeth were already chattering, but she nodded and pressed her face to his chest. Jefferson kicked his horse into a fast trot, realizing if the snow continued to fall like this, they would be lucky to make Winterhaven by nightfall. They were only an hour's ride from the ducal estate in Northumberland and it was going to take nearly four times that amount to traverse it in this weather. He was praying the outriders he'd sent ahead would have the staff prepared for their arrival.

          They'd traveled for perhaps an hour when the wind began to die down. The snow was still falling all around them, but without so much wind they were able to see more clearly. Travers and McClellan, the coachman, were still behind Jefferson, each pulling the reins of a horse from the team. Thank God he hadn't lost them in the storm. Jefferson looked down at the top of Emma's head, her face still pressed into his chest.

          "Emma? We're finally making decent progress, rabbit. Emma?" he asked worriedly. She was still shivering. That was a good sign she hadn't given in to hypothermia. He shook her gently. "Emma?"

          Emma raised her head and gave him what she hoped was a brave smile. It came out more as a grimace. She had always hated the cold, wasn't made to spend so much time in it. She felt like an icicle. "I-I'm al-alright, Jefferson," she was able to say through her chattering teeth.

          Jefferson suppressed a shudder as she slipped her hands inside his jacket and pressed them to his back. How could she be so cold bundled as she was. He knew she'd worn the heavy woolen traveling dress of the day before along with who knew how many petticoats, topped with her fur lined cloak. The blanket he'd wrapped her in had been made by the dowager duchess, who prided herself on her craft. It was the warmest blanket in the coach. Yet Emma was near frozen. He urged more speed out of his horse for good measure, intent on getting her to the estate before she fell ill.

          "Talk to me, rabbit."

          "I-I can't. T-T-Too cold," she whispered, pressing her face back into his jacket.

          "Don't go to sleep, love. Stay with me."

          Emma smiled up at him, her lips tinged blue. What did he want, a bloody story? She'd be glad to tell him about this gentleman whose lady was getting mighty fed up with his stubborn refusal to marry her, but she doubted he'd be very happy with that tale. She was so cold, she couldn't feel her feet or her hands, but she couldn't tell him that either. He was doing his admirable best to get them there, she wouldn't worry him with her petty problems.

          Jefferson took one look at her blue lips and cursed. She'd tried to hide it from him, tried to hide just how badly she was suffering so as not to alarm him. He opened the blanket wrapped around his shoulders and enveloped her in it as well. Her shivering stopped before he could close it around her. She'd either fainted or succumbed to the cold, but he couldn't be sure.

          He shouted to Travers behind him. "Get to Winterhaven, man. Quickly! In the master chamber, have a fire built in the hearth. Roaring, man! I don't care if you have to use a whole tree, I want an inferno when I arrive. Have the servants pull the mattress off the bed and lay it in front of the hearth."

          "But, milord —" he protested.

          "Don't ask questions, just do it!" Jefferson urged his horse to a faster trot, holding Emma with one arm and using the hand of his other to start unbuttoning his shirt. He was near frozen himself and didn't know how much heat he could offer her, but he had to try.

          Opening his shirt, he shifted Emma so her arms encircled his waist and her face was pressed against the bare skin of his chest. He shivered as her lips brushed against his numb flesh as he wrapped both blankets securely around them, praying he could offer her enough warmth until they could reach the estate. It shouldn't be much farther. They'd been traveling for hours.

          Finally, Winterhaven came into view as they topped the rise, the windows glowing with candlelight, offering a cheery glow and the promise of warmth and safety from the elements. His heart was pounding to the beat of the horses' hooves, urging him to hurry. Hurry so he could save Emma. He couldn't lose her this way. It was one thing to lose her to another man, that was his choice. He couldn't lose her to death. He didn't want to live in a world where she didn't exist.

          "Hold on, sweetheart, we're almost there," he crooned to her, hoping with every fiber of his being that she could hear him, that she hadn't been lost to him yet. And then they were riding through the gates. Jefferson could hardly believe they'd finally made it.

          Travers was waiting for him when he rode into the courtyard. He handed Emma down to the man and dismounted, shuddering from the cold as it seeped into his open shirt. Travers turned to bring Emma into the manor, but Jefferson's hand on his shoulder gave him pause.

          "Give her to me, man! Is her bedchamber prepared as I asked? The fire?" Jefferson asked, shouting orders at the servants he passed to begin heating water for their lady's bath. He followed Travers up the long staircase, his limbs tingling as the warmth of the manor began to revive his frozen limbs.

          "Yes, milord. Everything is in readiness as you instructed," Travers said, pushing open the door to the master suite. "I'll see to it that food is sent up as well. Her ladyship will be hungry upon awakening, no doubt."

          Jefferson strode through the sitting room and into the bedchamber, turning to Travers to shout, "Just leave it in the sitting room. We're not to be disturbed." Jefferson turned to the man, shock and disapproval written all over the man's face. "That will be all, Travers. And thank you," he added as an afterthought. He knew the duke's most trusted servant would tell Robert, but at the moment he didn't give a damn. All he cared about was Emma's well-being.

          Emma hadn't moved since before they'd arrived and even with the warmth of the manor slowly reviving him, it didn't seem to have had any effect on her. Travers had been true to his word. The fire was blazing, and the mattress had been pulled from the bed and set before it. He laid Emma down gently and unwrapped the blankets and cloak from her still form.

          "Emma, love, can you hear me?" he asked, disheartened when she didn't respond with so much as a groan. "Wake up, rabbit. You need to wake up," he pleaded. Jefferson leaned close to her nose, assuring himself that she still breathed, sighing deeply in relief.

          He stood and stripped out of his wet clothes, leaving nothing but his leather breeches before returning to her side. Jefferson knelt on the mattress and began removing her clothes with shaking fingers. So many nights he had dreamt of what it would be like to remove her clothes and make love to her. This scenario had  _not_  been one of them. And she wasn't even awake to enjoy it. He even removed her chemise and silk underthings, leaving her completely bare to his view.

          Jefferson laid down beside her and drew her into his arms, covering them with the blankets draped over the bed. The heat from the fire was so intense, he broke out into a sweat, but he refused to leave her side. He was encouraged when he felt her shiver and a smile graced his lips when her teeth began to chatter. She groaned when the feeling began to return to her limbs, and she snuggled closer to the warm body pressed against her from nose to toe.

          He rubbed her arms, her skin covered in goose bumps, trying to help the circulation return. "Emma, sweetheart, please talk to me," he pleaded, pressing a soft kiss to her temple.

          Emma cried out in pain. "Why does it hurt?" she asked, drawing her knees up to her chest. "What happened to me? Did I fall off that damnable horse?" she asked weakly, shuddering with the chills which still wracked her body.

          Jefferson ran his hand up and down her back, soothing her chilled skin, feeling if not actually seeing the color return to her flesh. "It's alright, Emma. We made it through the storm. And no, you didn't fall. How could you think I would let you fall?" he asked accusingly.

          And Emma knew he would never have let her fall. Even when he'd been teaching her to dance and they had tripped, he'd been there to break her fall. He'd never let her come to harm, nor would he ever harm her intentionally. The only power he held over her was the power to crush her heart. "Then why do I hurt all over?"

          "The cold. You have to get warm again. I'm having water heated for your bath, but I can't allow you to get into hot water until you've warmed up in front of the fire."

          "D-Dealt w-with a great deal of f-freezing women, have you?" she snarked through her chattering teeth.

          "No. But I've seen the cold take more than one man from the battlefield. Do you remember meeting Colonel Balfour? I believe I introduced you to him at the Hastings ball?" he asked, trying to keep her awake and talking.

          "I don't recall," she said with a yawn.

          "He's a decent chap for a hardened soldier. He was a physician and worked in a field hospital. He used to play cards with me and Robbie at the club and regale us with stories from his time there and how he treated the wounded." Jefferson brushed a golden lock of her hair behind her ear and cupped her face in his hand.

          "Is th-that how you knew what to do for me?" The chattering in her teeth was beginning to fade and the feeling was returning to her fingers. Fingers which were lying still against Jefferson's very naked chest.

          "Yes, Emma. That's how I knew." His lips were mere inches from hers, his warm breath fanning her face. But his eyes were twin slits of grey, angry. "Why did you hide it from me?"

          She was beginning to feel uncomfortable under his seething gaze. "Hide what?"

          "Why didn't you tell me how you were suffering from the cold? You could've died, Emma," he hissed furiously. "I won't lose you like that. Do you hear me? What if I couldn't have gotten you here in time?"

          Emma was suddenly very aware of her state of undress. She ignored Jefferson's questions and peered under the blanket. Where the hell were her clothes? "Jefferson, where the hell are my clothes?" she shrieked, pushing against his chest, trying to free herself from his embrace.

          "Lie still," he commanded, pressing her more firmly to the length of his body. "You have nothing to fear from me, Emma. When are you going to realize that? Your clothes were wet from snow and sleet. Even the heat of the fire wouldn't have been able to permeate thick wet wool. I had no choice but to remove them," he explained, his voice tight, still angry her stubbornness could have very well led to her death. Jefferson took her hand in his and slid it slowly down his chest and stomach to the waistband of his breeches.

          "You left your pants on? Why?"

          "What?"

          "Why did you? Leave them on, I mean?" she asked, refusing to meet his gaze. Her heart beat a rapid tempo in her chest as she realized she was finally at Winterhaven without a chaperone to burst in on them. He was hers to do with as she wished. She was lying naked in his arms, in a bed, before a roaring fire and he'd left his pants on! She could have wept.

          "What are you asking me, Emma?" Jefferson let go of her hand where it rested on his lower stomach. She didn't move it, but left it where it was. Her eyes were darkening with desire and he closed his own, unwilling to hope she would finally give in to it, finally give herself to him.

          Emma leaned forward and kissed the corner of his mouth, her touch feather-light. "Why did you leave them on? It's not a difficult question, Jefferson."

          Jefferson fought against the lump of emotion which sought to choke him. "I didn't want to frighten you. I didn't want you to think I was trying to take advantage. I would never do that to you."

          "That's why I love you so much, Jefferson," Emma whispered against his lips, using her trembling fingertips to release the top button of his breeches.

          Jefferson's arms tightened around her, crushing her breasts to his chest as he felt her fingers release another button. "Emma, you don't know what you're doing, love. This isn't one of our games." Emma sucked his bottom lip between her own and ran her tongue over it. "You need to stop ... now."

          "No."

          "NO?" he gasped as another button popped open and she brushed against his rigid length. "Emma, say it. Say it right now," he groaned against her mouth. "Tell me you want me, that you don't want me to stop. Because I won't be able to if you touch me there. I've wanted you for too long."

          Emma unfastened the last button on his breeches and slid her hand inside, wrapping her fingers around his length. "I want you, Jefferson." His head dropped back on the pillow as she stroked him tentatively. "I want to make love with you."

_Tap! Taptaptap!_

          Emma groaned and rolled onto her back. "Do you think they'll go away?" she asked in a low voice.

          "Doubtful," Jefferson replied dryly. He rose from the mattress and fastened his pants before marching angrily to the door. He jerked it open to find Travers standing there with his hands in his pockets. "What is it?" Jefferson hissed.

          Travers smirked, taking in Jefferson's state of undress. "Sorry to interrupt, milord, but I thought you'd want to know the storm has abated. I've sent our men to collect the coach and your belongings. They should return before morning."

          "Anything else?"

          "Her ladyship's bath is ready." And with that Travers turned on his heel, leaving them alone once more. What more was he going to have to endure over the next few days? Regardless, he was alone with Emma and she'd admitted she wanted him.  _Finally!_  But why now? Why was she surrendering all of a sudden? For weeks now, she'd been denying them both, holding out for him to ask her precious question.

          Jefferson turned and strode back to the mattress she was laid upon, staring down at her with fire blazing from his eyes. "Just what is your game now, Emma?"

          Emma stretched luxuriously and yawned, the blanket dropping about her waist and baring her to his gaze. She smiled up at him, her eyes dark with her desire. "I don't know what you mean. Come back to bed."

          Jefferson raked an angry hand through his hair and paced before the fire, so angry he was having trouble forming the words to scold her. "You … You …" he paused and took a deep breath. "You almost died, Emma. Is that why you changed your mind? Or are you still hoping for a proposal?"

          Emma's mouth gaped open in surprise. "Are you serious?"

          "Yes, I'm bloody well serious!"

          "Damnit, Jefferson, why do you have to analyze everything? Why can't you just enjoy the moment?" she asked, shouting now, so furious she could have slapped him for ruining the mood. "Yes, I could have died, so what? You saved me and the point is now moot as you are so wont to say. Who's to know what tomorrow will bring, Jefferson? All I do know is that I could have died without knowing —"

          "What?" he asked softly, his anger cooling in the face of her revelation.

          "Nothing." Emma wrapped the blanket around her and rose from the mattress. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of an answer. She'd finally given in. After what seemed like forever, she was finally willing to make love with him and he'd ruined it. She stalked to the door which led to the en suite bathroom and flung it open. Belle had been right in her description. The bathtub was the size of a small pond, sunk into the marble floor and filled with steaming water. Soft, folded towels were stacked next to it for her use and a jar of soft soap sat next to it.

          Jefferson followed her into the room and gaped. Robert really had too much time and money on his hands if he could come up with a project like this one. Now if he could find some way to do something with the plumbing, he'd triple his fortune. He shook his head to clear it as he watched Emma step into the steaming water.

          "You didn't answer my question," he said, coming to stand next to the tub, his hands shoved into his pockets.

          Emma dunked her head under the water and scooped a handful of the soap into her hair, scrubbing her scalp. She refused to answer him. He waited, watching her rinse the lather from her hair until it floated atop the water in a silken sheen.

          "I'm losing my patience with you, Emma," he growled.

          "And I lost mine long ago! Go to the devil, Jefferson."

          He stripped off his breeches and jumped into the tub, stirring the still water. Emma turned just as he reached out to grab her upper arms, pulling her to him. Her breath caught in her throat as he pressed her to him, molding and fitting her to his body. "Tell me," he commanded, releasing her arms and wrapping his own about her waist, caging her in his embrace.

          Emma pressed her face to his chest so he couldn't see the tears in her eyes. "Isn't it enough that I'm willing to give you what you want?"

          He cupped her face in his large hands, his thumb ghosting over her quivering lower lip. He kissed her, gently molding his lips to hers, giving of himself instead of taking. "No, sweetheart, it's not. I don't want you to give yourself to me out of gratitude for saving your life."

          "I don't —" she gasped as his lips trailed along her jaw to tease her ear. "I'm not giving myself to you because of gratitude. I promise."

          Emma gripped his upper arms, holding on for dear life as his hands moved to her hips, pressing her firmly against his arousal. Jefferson nipped her ear with his teeth. "Tell me why."

          "Because I don't want to lose you without knowing what it feels like to make love with you. This is our last chance, Jefferson.  _My_  last chance to show you how much I love you," she whispered, sliding her hands up his chest to twine about his neck.

          Jefferson's heart constricted in his chest. He could feel her pain and her need just as surely as if it was his own. It was true. This may be their one last chance before she gave up and married someone else. Then she would be lost to him. He couldn't speak as she pulled his head down for her kiss, so filled with emotion he was nearly consumed by it.

          He had to give her one last chance to refuse him before he was lost to the power of his desire. "Emma, are you certain? There's no coming back from this."

          "Yes." She moved her lips to his neck, running her tongue over the spot where his pulse beat a rapid tempo. "I want you to touch me, to love me. Don't stop." Her hand trailed down his stomach. "Don't stop."

          Jefferson nearly lost his footing on the slick marble when her hand wrapped around his turgid length. He caught her hand and pressed his brow to hers, fighting for control. "I don't want to hurt you, Emma," he growled through clenched teeth.

          "You won't," she said, breathless from the fire raging in her veins. She didn't want to wait, didn't want him to tease her with gentle touches. She didn't want him to be patient with her now. "Now, Jefferson. You can be gentle later."

          Emma raked her nails across his firm buttocks and Jefferson lost his footing, taking her with him under the water. He was sputtering as his head broke the surface. "Patience is  _not_  your virtue," he drawled dryly, dragging her back into his embrace.

          Emma wasn't smiling, her need for him too great, as her hands fisted in his short dark hair. She ached, burned for him with a need which frightened her, but she wouldn't let that stop her this time. It didn't matter that he wouldn't ask ... not this time. She loved him; it was that simple and she  _would_ have him.

          Jefferson lifted her and wrapped her legs around his waist, seeking entry. She was squirming in his arms, making him afraid he'd drop her. He'd never known another woman with her fire, her passion. He reached between them, his fingers finding the little bundle of nerves above her opening and he teased her, stroked her until she mewled incoherently in little pleas of  _please, yes_  and  _now._ He eased himself into her slowly until he came upon her maidenhead, her gift to her husband. How could he take that from her when he had no intention of claiming the title for himself?

          Emma felt his hesitation, his doubt and knew he was on the verge of putting a stop to their loving. She thrust her hands into his hair and held his head still, bringing her lips down on his, giving herself to him, taking his tongue into her mouth. "I love you."

          Jefferson dropped her onto his erection, burying himself to the hilt as she cried out and hid her face in his neck, her hands still entwined in his hair, threatening to pull it out. "Emma, I'm so sorry. It was unavoidable." He took a step towards the edge of the tub, intending to carry her back to bed.

          Her hands tightened in his hair and he stopped, his handsome face screwed up into a painful grimace. The pain of her grip sent electric impulses firing through his blood to pool in his lower belly and it took most of his control not to thrust into her like a novice.

          "Don't bloody move," she hissed, adjusting herself against his groin and drawing a moan from him. "It's passing."

          "Do you want me to stop?"  _Holy hell, please don't let her ask me to stop!_  He stood there, holding her, waiting for her answer with bated breath.

          Emma trailed her tongue along the curve of his neck, nipping with her teeth and drawing his flesh into her mouth, sucking hard. "No. Don't stop," she said breathlessly as he thrust into her again. She could feel her desire building in her, threatening to consume her. The want ... the _need_ ... for that elusive pleasure only he could give her, made her bold and she carefully used her hold on him to raise up and slowly sink back down on him.

          She mewled wantonly as her folds quivered and adjusted to his size, filling her with his heat and she relished the long hiss which escaped through his parted lips as her nails dug feverish little trails along his back. Jefferson wrapped his arm under her heart shaped behind and slipped his other hand between their bodies until he could reach the core of her, rubbing his thumb over her nub.

          He didn't know how much longer he'd be able to hold back when she stiffened in his arms with the onset of her climax. He thrust into her slowly, giving her time to come down from her high, before quickening his pace. He pressed her against the side of the marble pool, angling his hips to increase the pleasure building in her once more. She buried her face in his neck, biting at the tendon standing out so prominently to muffle her screams as he grinded his hips against her with each thrust. He bent her back, over his arm, his lips tracing over her collarbone and across her rose-tinted chest, the flush of desire prominent on her pale flesh.

          "Tell me, Emma ... please. Please, I need to hear you say it," he groaned as his tongue swirled in a sweeping motion over her breast, drawing another moan from her throat as he suckled gently at her nipple. Her nails dug into his nape, her other hand holding tightly to his upper arm as she canted her hips forward against him, her breath coming in ragged pants as she tried to keep up with his erratic rhythm, wanting nothing more than to fall with him into mindless pleasure.

          "I love you, Jefferson," she cried as she fell over into the abyss. He thrust thrice more and joined her, gaining his own release, her name a blessed prayer on his lips. The back of his legs bumped into the ledge built into the side of the tub and he collapsed with her onto it. He laid his head back against the side of the tub, waiting for his breathing to return to normal.

          He brushed her hair away from her eyes and peered down into her face. Her eyes were half closed, a smile adorning her lips. The look of a woman well pleased. "Are you alright?" he asked, tracing a finger over her swollen lips.

          "Yes," she assured him, dropping a kiss to his collarbone. "I'm going to have to tell Robbie how much I love the new renovations," she teased.

          Jefferson chuckled and tightened his arms around her, hugging her affectionately. "Did I hurt you?" he asked, his smile fading. "I didn't mean to, Emma."

          She ran her hand down his chest, covering his heart with it. "A small price to pay for bliss, my love." She reached out and scooped a dollop of soap into her hand, rubbing it into Jefferson's chest, her hands slippery as she soaped him. She could feel him begin to stir beneath her, refusing to move from her position on his groin. She reached behind him to soap his back and gasped, her breasts sliding back and forth against his chest as she worked.

          Jefferson scooped soap into his own hands and rubbed them together, making a thick, rich lather before reaching for her. He didn't miss an inch of her, even raising her feet onto his lap and soaping her toes. She giggled and held onto him, resuming her position on his lap.

          "Jefferson, I don't think I've ever seen you so relaxed," she said absently as she ran her hand down his flat stomach.

          He ran his soapy hands over her breasts and smiled against her lips. "That's because you kept teasing me to my breaking point and then skipping off to bed."

          Emma raised her hips and eased herself down onto his arousal, the breath hissing from her lips. "Oh, you feel good," she murmured against his mouth, taking his bottom lip between her own. "You taste good, too."

          Jefferson moved beneath her, grasping her hips in his hands and helping her find her rhythm. "Tease," he gritted out as she ground herself against him. He released her hips to lay her back over his arm, finding her breast with his mouth and sucking her nipple inside its wet warmth. She held his head to her, her hands thrust into his hair. He released her breast, his hands replacing his mouth. He tweaked her nipple and she cried out. "Come with me, Emma. Look at me."

          Emma pried her eyes open and met his smoky grey gaze, her pleasure lighting her face as she closed around his hardness, clenching and unclenching him with her sheath. He was holding her so tightly she was sure to have a bruise or two tomorrow, but she couldn't have cared less. She felt well loved by the man to whom she'd given her heart. And at that moment, she didn't care that he'd rejected her repeatedly. She didn't care if she never married. In that one moment she knew true happiness with the man she loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Well ... o_0 ... that was something. They've finally given in to each other. Now the fun begins … Hope you all enjoyed! *runs off to take a cold shower*


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains adult themes and situations … yes, more smut, dearies … reader discretion is advised.

          "Is that your stomach?" Emma asked, giggling. She was lying in the huge bed which dominated the chamber, her head resting on Jefferson's stomach. He had pulled the mattress back onto the frame now that she didn't need to be so close to the fire. She'd been lying in the relative silence in an ocean of bliss, refusing to address the unspoken concerns between them when she'd heard the growling in what could only be his stomach.

          "I'm starving!" He was lying with his head resting on his folded arms, his eyes hooded and sleepy. He reached down and twisted a lock of her golden hair around his finger, tugging gently. "But I'm too bloody exhausted to go in search of food."

          Emma turned her head and kissed his stomach, the muscles under her lips rippling. She smiled dreamily up at him. "Well, my love, I could always ring for something, but I wouldn't think you'd want the servants up here just now to see what we've been about."

          Jefferson smirked and lifted a brow at her. "Cheeky wench." He rolled out from under her and went in search of his pants. Emma felt her cheeks flame as she watched him walk naked to the door of the bathroom, remembering what they'd done in there not so long ago. And in the sitting room, and in the bed. She was surprised she hadn't slipped into unconsciousness. He was an insatiable beast now that she'd finally given in to him.

          She never wanted it to end. She wanted to remain here forever with him, happy and sated and in love. But he  _didn't_  love her, she thought miserably, ignoring the pain that thought caused her. His actions spoke of love, but his lips remained as silent as the grave. Oh, she knew he _wanted_ her. Lord knows, he'd told her often enough, but she wanted his love, his heart. Robert and Belle were always talking about desperate times and desperate measures and the like, but Emma wasn't quite desperate enough. Certainly, she'd been trying for weeks to get him to ask her to marry him, but she didn't want to trap him. She had more pride than that.

          Emma wanted him to ask her because he loved her, because he  _wanted_  to marry her. And he was going to leave her the moment they returned to London, leave the city until she'd chosen another to wed. He'd said he couldn't live with the temptation. If only she could get him to tell her his reasons for wanting to avoid marriage, she could alleviate his worries and have him set them aside.

          She loved him. There was nothing he could tell her to make her turn away from him.  _Stubborn!_  She punched the pillow with her fist and dragged it over her head to muffle her frustrated scream.

          "And what, may I ask, is that all about?" Jefferson asked, his brows somewhere under the hair falling over his forehead. "I've only been gone two minutes." He walked to the bed and pulled the pillow from her face. Her eyes were filled with tears as she snatched another pillow off the bed and covered her face, holding it in place so he wouldn't be able to take that one from her.

          Jefferson crawled onto the bed and sat next to her. "Emma … please, rabbit. What's happened? Are you ill?"

          Emma shoved the pillow aside and met his gaze, her heartbreak pouring from her eyes. She reached up and framed his face in her hands, pulling his head down for her kiss. She brushed her lips to his, then trailed them along his jaw to his ear. She couldn't speak, her emotions welling up in her throat to choke her. She couldn't tell him that he was a stubborn ass for rejecting her love. She couldn't tell him she didn't want him to leave her. Her pride stood in the way, having found its way back. She refused to ask him again. She could only show him.

          Jefferson tried to push away from Emma. She was wild in her desire. She had always been passionate with him before, but this was different. It was almost like she was saying goodbye. "Emma —"

          Emma pulled his lips back to hers, cutting him off and drawing his tongue into her mouth, refusing to let him speak. Now wasn't the time for words. She didn't want him to be concerned about her tears. She wanted his heat, his fire. It wasn't long before he forgot what he'd wanted to ask and joined in her passion, his need growing for her. She pushed him back onto the bed and trailed her lips to the waistband of his breeches, opening the first button with her teeth.

          "Emma!" he gasped, arching his back as she cupped him through the soft leather.

          She raised her head and quirked a brow at him, her smile wicked. "Shut up, Jefferson, and just feel," she said, her voice husky with desire, sending a shudder of raw need through him.

          Jefferson couldn't take his eyes from her as she continued to undo one button after another with her teeth. She pulled the offending garment over his hips and tossed them to the floor. Emma ran her hands up his legs and along the insides of his thighs as she moved over him, a teasing smile on her lips.

          His eyes widened as she stopped, her face level with his groin. "You wouldn't." His entire body jerked as her breath ghosted over the tip of his straining cock, the only warning he received before she took him into her mouth. She released him only to run her tongue up his length and then take him fully into her mouth again. He grabbed her upper arms and hauled her onto his chest. "God, woman, you're killing me!"

          Emma claimed his mouth again and straddled his hips, his hardness sliding easily through her wet folds to bump against her swollen clit. Her tongue glided into his mouth, seeking out every spot she knew brought him pleasure as she reached between them to line them up. She knew how to manipulate his body, by now, to have every touch, every kiss, bring him to the height of joy and back again. Jefferson forgot how to breathe as she sank down onto his shaft, her heat enveloping him. She was in control. He'd never in his life had a woman to control him like that and he _liked_ it. No, he loved it and he loved her. He had to bite his tongue to stop himself from telling her.

          His arm wrapped about her hips, holding her firmly in place as he sat up and scooted back to lean against the headboard so she could loop her slender arms about his neck. He buried his face in the crook of her shoulder, unable to bear the amount of such unbridled love in her emerald gaze a moment longer. He endeavored to show her he felt the same as he poured his heart into his touch, determined to bury his memory in her flesh. She gasped as he twitched inside her and she ground herself down on him as another jolt of pure sensation coursed through her.

          "Jeff … touch me … please," she panted as he thrust up to meet her. His hands traced over her sides, his thumbs teasing at the sensitive undersides of her breasts as he nipped lightly at her collarbone. He'd give her the world if he could, but had to settle for this simple act of pleasure instead of what he truly wanted.

          Her back bowed, a mewling cry sounding long and low in her throat as his lips closed over her nipple and sucked it into the heat of his mouth. She fisted her fingers in his hair, holding him closer, reveling in the intimacy between them as he tasted her flesh. He sucked harder as her inner walls squeezed him to an almost painful degree and he couldn't tell if the agonized moan ringing through the room came from him or her.

          He couldn't stand it any longer, this control she had over him, and he rolled over with her, driving into her until she screamed out her pleasure. His name on her lips as she broke around him was more sensuous than the strongest aphrodisiac and he couldn't hold off any longer as his thrusts became erratic. His control was nonexistent as he plunged into her, and she only held him tighter, closer, her love wrapping around him and promising untold bliss if he would just let go and give himself over to her. Her gaze never left his as he plummeted over the precipice and joined her.

          He was spent, knew his weight must be crushing her, but she refused to let go as he buried his face in her neck, trying to convey the depth of his emotions with a languid kiss to her alabaster flesh. "Em …" was all he could manage.

          Jefferson brushed his lips to hers and smiled, finally finding the strength to raise his head. Emma cupped his face in her hands and kissed the corner of his mouth. "I love you, Jefferson Madden," she whispered reverently, kissing the other side. "I will always love you." She kissed him fully on his mouth. "Forever."

          He crushed her with the emotion he poured into his embrace, knowing she meant every word. He felt his heart expand with the love he felt for her that he just couldn't put into words. If he admitted how much he loved her, she would never give up. She would never marry another. She would plague him for the rest of his days until he finally gave in and asked her … and he'd spend the rest of his life having her hate him for it.

          Emma smiled sadly and pushed gently at his shoulders. "Go, love. Go find us something to eat and perhaps some tea," she said softly.

          "I don't want to leave you," he admitted, the words forced over the lump in his throat.

          "I thought you were hungry."

          "That's not what I meant."

          Emma fought against the tears which stung her eyes. She knew he was talking about leaving her when they returned to London. She didn't want him to leave either, but he knew what the alternative was. "I know."

          "Emma," he whispered, pressing his brow to hers.

          "Jefferson, it's alright. Go, love."

          He eased out of her and rose from the bed, feeling like he was leaving a part of himself there with her. He pulled his pants on and searched the floor for the shirt he'd discarded when they'd arrived. "I won't be long," he said, a worried frown upon his face.

          Emma waited until the door closed behind him before she rolled onto her stomach and let the dam of tears loose upon her pillow. She had nothing left to give. Now all she had to do was wait and see what consequences she'd have to pay for her pleasure.

 

*.*.*

 

          Jefferson groaned, a frown knitting his brow, wishing whomever was shouting would shut the hell up. His arms tightened about Emma as she lay sleeping in his warm embrace and tried to go back to sleep. They'd gotten very little last night, drifting off from sheer exhaustion just after dawn.

          "Your Grace, I'm not certain you should go in there," Travers said from the other side of the heavy oak door. Jefferson's eyes flew open. No, he couldn't have possibly heard the man right. Robert and Belle were in London. Robert had sent him there just so he wouldn't have to leave Belle so close to her time. He couldn't be here.

          "Get out of the way, Travers, and see about fetching Emma down to my study. I need to speak to both of them."

          Jefferson groaned again, closing his eyes and wishing he were invisible as the door opened and Robert stalked into the room. The duke stopped mid-stride as his eyes fell on the pair in the bed. His lovely ward was draped haphazardly over his best friend's chest, the creamy expanse of her back bare to the soft curve of her lower back where it met her buttocks. Jefferson changed his mind; he wished Emma were invisible. Robert's shock quickly gave way to a blank stare as his shoulders stiffened with a renewed sense of determination. Finally, it settled into his ducal mien, that look he gave those who were truly out of his favor.

          "Study. Twenty minutes," Robert said, his voice devoid of emotion. "Bring Lady Emma with you."

          "Robbie —"

          Robert held up a hand to cut him off. "Twenty minutes," he enunciated through clenched teeth so there would be no mistaking the seriousness of the matter. With that, he turned on his heel and strode from the room, his boot heels clicking against the polished wood floor. Travers pulled the door shut behind the duke to give them privacy to dress.

          Jefferson shook Emma gently. "Emma, wake up. Wake up!" He rose from the bed and strode to the door, pulling it open. "Travers!"

          "Yes, milord?"

          "Has our luggage arrived? Nevermind," he said, seeing Emma's trunk and his valise next to the sofa. "Bring Lady Emma's trunk in here, would you?"

          Travers set it at the foot of the bed and left the two lovers alone. Jefferson tossed back the lid and began digging for a gown for her to wear. Emma sat up in bed, stretching. "What are you doing?" she asked as a lilac day dress hit her in the face. "Jefferson!"

          "Get dressed," he growled, opening his valise and pulling out fresh clothes.

          "But —"

          The fire in his eyes sufficiently cut her off. He didn't even want to think about what Robert was going to do to him when they arrived downstairs. "Get dressed," he repeated. "We've got twenty minutes to prepare ourselves."

          "For what?" she asked, alarmed by the anger in his tone. "What's happened?" She rose from the bed and pulled the gown over her head, fastening the buttons on the bodice, not bothering with undergarments when she was sure they'd just end up back in bed after breakfast.

          "Robert's here," he said simply, summing up their situation with those two words. "Time to face the proverbial music."

          Emma dropped the hairbrush she'd just retrieved from her trunk, standing frozen, her panic rising to choke her. No, it couldn't be true, she thought desperately. They couldn't have been found out. She shook her head from side to side, denying the truth staring her in the face. Robert would force Jefferson to marry her now. They didn't have a choice. She didn't want him forced. He would resent her for it and then he'd come to hate her. She would have to refuse, and Robert would have to keep quiet.

          Jefferson watched the myriad of emotions play over her face as the ramifications of their predicament swept through her. He grabbed her upper arms in his large hands and gave her a gentle shake. "Get a hold of yourself, Emma. Now is no time to panic."

          She glanced up at him, her mind reeling, and laughed. "Can you possibly think of a better time?" she asked dryly. He turned his back on her and pulled a shirt over his head. He was already closing himself off from her. He was feeling trapped and looking for someone to blame. She was certain the blame was going to fall on her.

          Emma slipped her feet into her slippers and began working on her waist-length blonde hair. There was nothing she could do for it without Bridgette, so she tied it back with a ribbon and dropped the hairbrush back into the trunk. What did it matter what she looked like when her world had just turned upside down?

          "Where are you going?" Jefferson asked, tying his cravat and pulling on his jacket. She was nearly to the door when she turned and smiled sadly at him, her hand on the door handle.

          "I'm going to see Robert. Perhaps I can reason with him and make him understand why I can't marry you."

          Jefferson's mouth gaped open as she swept out of the room. Had he really heard her correctly? He squeezed his eyes shut tightly and knocked his hand against the side of his head, trying uselessly to clear his head. No, she didn't just say that. And he realized, he didn't want her to say it. He had an excuse now to marry her. The choice had been taken from him. She couldn't change her mind now. By God, he wouldn't let her change her mind.

 

*.*.*

 

          Jefferson ran after her only to halt as he made the hall, grimacing down at his bare feet on the stone floor. Robert should've had wood floors installed. He cursed and ran back to the bedchamber to retrieve his boots. He couldn't stop to pull them on, hopping awkwardly out into the hall as he tried. Emma was certainly already wagging her tongue at Robert with one excuse after another to  _save_  him from the horrible state of matrimony. Finally, he was able to pull the other boot on and make a dash for the long staircase.

          He caught sight of her at the bottom of the stairs as she rounded the corner. "Emma Morrison, stop right there!" he bellowed. He expected her to stop and look back around the corner, but there was no sign of her when he reached the spot where she'd disappeared. "Stubborn woman!"

          Robert was pacing before the blazing hearth when Jefferson skidded to a halt in the study. Jefferson felt like a nine-year-old schoolboy called out by his father. It shouldn't be a surprise. He didn't respect anyone as much as he did his friend. It just made it much worse that the duke was also Emma's guardian, as good as her father and responsible for her future.

          Jefferson swung his gaze to Emma as she dropped a sugar cube into her tea and stirred. How the hell could she remain so calm, he wondered. Their entire future was at stake and she was having tea. He turned back to Robert, but words failed him as the duke pierced him with eyes nearly black.

          "Have a drink, Jefferson," Robert offered, his tone one of fury barely controlled. Jefferson raked a hand through his hair and reached for the decanter on the desk, pouring himself a double. "Sit. Both of you."

          "Robbie —"

          "Robert —"

          The duke held up a hand for silence as they both began in unison. "This is all my fault for listening to my  _wife_." Robert resumed his pacing. "She was adamant the two of you would finally find your way 'into each other's hearts', as she put it. She was certain it would only be a matter of time until  _you_ ," he pointed at Jefferson, "proposed to Emma. I tried to explain to her just how bloody stubborn you are, that there was no amount of persuading or cajoling or pleading which could sway you. Have you told her the reason you won't marry her?" Robert demanded, his voice rising.

          Jefferson sipped his scotch, avoiding Robert's eyes. "No."

          "Of course not!"

          Emma set her cup and saucer on the table positioned before the sofa. "It matters not why he refuses to marry me, because I no longer have any wish to marry him," she announced, her chin rising in determination.

          Robert's mouth gaped open. "You should've thought of that before you hopped in bed with him, dearie."

          Jefferson wanted to pound his head against the wall but settled for lying it back against the sofa, covering his eyes with his hand.

          "Emma, you've been compromised. You'll have to marry me," the earl said, his voice flat.

          "How romantic, Jefferson. Even when forced, you still find a way  _not_  to ask," she replied drolly. She turned her icy jade gaze on Robert. "I'm not marrying him," she insisted.

          "Jefferson, do something," Robert dropped into a chair and rested his head in his hands. "You know I don't want to force this, but I will if it comes to that."

          Jefferson knew he'd have to ask that dreaded question she'd been waiting for. He took Emma's hand in his. "Emma, love. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

          Emma jerked her hand from his and glared at him. "No." His words tore at her heart. She'd waited so long to hear them and now she couldn't bear for them to pass his lips. Now she knew what it was like to love him and not have him love her in return. She'd decided it just wasn't enough to have his name and his passion. She wouldn't settle for anything less than his heart.

          "I beg your pardon?" Jefferson asked with a puzzled frown. "How many times have I heard in the last month 'Ask me, Jefferson'?" he asked, his voice an angry hiss. "You  _will_  marry me."

          "No, I  _won't_ ," she insisted. "And you can't make me, you brute!" she railed at him.

          A new voice joined in the foray. "Rob, why don't you tell them why we've come all this way in the first place. I believe you forgot to mention that part."

          Jefferson whirled around to glare at Killian where he stood in the shadow of a bookcase. "What the devil are you doing here, Easterly? This is none of your affair."

          Robert rose from his chair and stalked to the desk to pour himself some scotch. "Jefferson, do you remember my solicitor?"

          Jefferson raised a cynical brow and snorted. "Yeah, twitchy little bugger. He does good work, though. Why?"

          "He tracked me down at the club three days ago to show me a betrothal contract signed by Emma's father. Signed two days before Daniel's death."

          A chill crept along Jefferson's spine and raised the hairs on the back of his neck. "Who?" He had a sinking feeling in his gut that he knew exactly who Emma's betrothed was.

          Robert stared pointedly at his friend. "Lord Malcolm Wendell. He's Emma's betrothed."

          Emma gasped in horror.

          "Holy hell," Jefferson cursed. "Over my dead body!"

          Killian remained silent.

          Robert set his drink on the desk and held up his hands for silence. "There is a positive light we can shine on this, however."

          Jefferson took up Robert's pacing in front of the fire, shoving his hands in his pockets to keep from throttling someone or breaking something ... he didn’t much care at this point. He was so enraged; his control was slipping away quickly. "How could anything positive come out of this?" There was no way he'd let that monster get his hands on Emma. He'd kill the bastard first. He couldn't be allowed to harm another innocent woman.

          "Because the betrothal contract has to be brought to my attention before arrangements can be made, Jeff. I asked Sinclair to sit on this until I return to the city," Robert explained.

          "And?" Jefferson asked, waving a hand impatiently. "Get to the bloody point, Robbie."

          "If you were to take Emma to Gretna Green to elope, there's nothing Wendell can do. Especially since the marriage has already been consummated, per se," Robert shrugged, grinning for the first time since he'd set foot in Northumberland.

          Jefferson brightened as he took in Robert's plan. "This is why you came here, to hasten our marriage."

          "Well, I knew it was only a matter of time. Too bad you botched the proposal, dearie. You were supposed to ask before anything like this happened," Robert said, tongue in cheek.

          "I'm still not marrying him, Robert," Emma insisted, shaking her head.

          Jefferson turned on her, his expression one of incredulity. "Are you bloody insane? You can't marry Wendell," he shouted, uncaring of the other occupants of the room.

          "That's sure to win her over, Jeff," Killian drawled, running the blade of his jeweled dagger under his fingernail and then slipping it back into his boot.

          "You stay out of this, Killian!" Jefferson snarled at his old school friend. He was really beginning to loath him. "Emma, I've asked you. What more do you want?" he asked, hauling her off the sofa and into his embrace. He cupped her face in his hands and rested his brow to hers. "Please, Emma. You can't be allowed to marry Wendell."

          Emma pushed out of his arms and turned her back on him, facing her guardian. "No. I will not be marrying Jefferson. If my father signed a binding contract with Wendell, I will marry him no matter how loathsome I find him. It would be wrong of me to dishonor his wishes."

          "I'll marry you, my darling," Killian said with a leering grin, causing Emma's face to go up in flames.

          Robert stepped in front of Jefferson to stop him from throttling Killian. "Jeff, control yourself. All is not lost," he said in a low voice where only Jefferson could hear.

          "That won't be necessary, milord," Emma insisted firmly, glaring at Killian.

          "Jefferson, would you do it? Would you marry her?" Robert asked, handing him another glass of scotch and pushing him down into the chair set before his desk.

          "You heard her, Robbie. She won't have me."

          "But would you?" Robert asked, pressing the matter.

          "Yes," Jefferson answered in a dejected tone.

          Emma didn't like the way this conversation was going. She couldn't marry Jefferson, because she didn't want to force him into a marriage which was just going to make him miserable. She really didn't want to marry Malcolm Wendell under any circumstances, but neither was Killian St. James appealing to her. Emma was beginning to think it was hopeless.

          If she could convince Robert to let her remain unwed until they returned to London, there was a chance she could escape the city without having to marry anyone. A noble sacrifice to save the man she loved. But she couldn't go to Belle for help. The duchess would, of course, run straight to Robert and tell him everything.

          Emma focused on Robert when she realized he was speaking again. "She has no say in the matter, Jefferson. It is my responsibility to see to her welfare. If I say she'll marry you, she'll - by God - marry you, man. Now what are you going to do?"

          Jefferson's grin was evil in the extreme as he rose from the chair and came to stand before Emma. "I'm taking my  _fiancé_  to Greta Green. We're getting married. Tonight."

 

*.*.*

 

          Robert left the study to give them a few moments to discuss their present situation, dragging Killian along with him. He knew they would have a great deal of issues to work through before they could reach any level of happiness. He'd never prayed so much that Belle was right, that Emma was the one woman who could help Jefferson find the happiness he'd been searching for his whole life. But he also knew how stubborn his dear friend could be. That mother of his had been preaching to him for years that he didn't deserve even the smallest measure of joy. Robert ground his teeth together in frustration, wishing Jefferson would just tell Emma his secret and let her judge for herself.

          "I take it we're going with them to Gretna Green," Killian remarked in an offhand manner.

          "Yes, I don't trust him not to let Emma talk him out of the wedding. She's proving to be just as manipulative as her mother ever was. There's just one difference, though, between Emma and her mother. Regina didn't care who got hurt by her machinations, including her own daughter. Emma's heart is in the right place. She doesn't want Jefferson to be hurt."

          "I'll go see to having the coach brought around to the drive, shall I?"

          Robert nodded and set off to see that the castle had undergone the renovations to his specifications. He figured he had time to take a look around while Jefferson and Emma enjoyed their argument.

 

*.*.*

 

          "I  _won't_ _!_ " Emma insisted, stamping her foot in frustration.

          "Emma, I'm not arguing with you anymore on the subject. Do you hear me?" Jefferson poured himself another drink. He'd lost count of how many he'd had, but hoped that by the time they arrived in Gretna Green, the pain in his chest would be reduced to a dull ache.

          "I hear you, but that doesn't mean I'm listening. You're being an ass, Jefferson," she hissed, her voice full of venom. She was tired of trying to reason with him. "You don't _want_ to marry me. You're only doing this because you got caught with your breeches around your ankles, so to speak. If you had really wanted to marry me, you would have asked me weeks ago." She swiped at a tear which threatened at the corner of her eye. She would not let him see how much this was upsetting her, turning her back on him to stare into the flames burning in the hearth.

          Jefferson slipped his arms around her waist and rested his chin against her shoulder. Emma tried to pry herself free, giving up when she couldn't get him to loosen his hold. "Emma, don't you know that I've wanted you for what seems like forever? I  _do_  want you to be my wife." Jefferson realized he was actually telling the truth. He was being honest with himself, not just saying what she wanted to hear. "I care for you deeply, rabbit. If I had a choice, I would have asked you months ago," he murmured against her shoulder as he pressed a kiss to her soft skin.

          Emma turned in his arms so she could look up into his eyes, her gaze narrowed and searching. "Then why didn't you ask me sooner? It's too late now, Jefferson. I didn't want you to be forced into this knowing how opposed you are. Why do you think I hadn't told Robert and Belle before about what we'd been doing? I wanted to marry you because I love you, Jefferson, not because you're forced. I want some semblance of happiness and you'll never be happy with me if you have to look across the breakfast table at the woman who stole your freedom against your will."

          Jefferson dug his hands into her hair tied at the nape of her neck, holding her head to his chest. "It doesn't matter anymore, Emma. What's done is done. It's my duty to marry you."

          Emma pushed out of his arms. "Lovely," she hissed angrily. "So now I'm just a duty for you to fulfill."

          "Well, I can't very well let you marry Wendell."

          "Another secret you've kept from me, by the way. I suppose you'll never get around to telling me why you hate him so much. But that's alright. The only thing you see me as is a receptacle for your lust. Not good enough to be your wife, but just fine to be your plaything." Emma was vibrating with her anger. "All this time, that's the only thing you've wanted from me, isn't it, Jefferson? All you've wanted is to have me in your bed."

          "Emma, how can you say that? I've been your friend, your protector, your escort and yes, your lover, but I have never seen you as a mere plaything," he protested. "I care for you, sweetheart," he said, his tone soft, trying to diffuse her anger.

          Emma picked up his glass of scotch from the desk and tossed back its contents, grinding her teeth together and fighting back a hearty cough as the alcohol burned its way down her throat. She prayed for patience and calm, both seeming to have deserted her. Finally, she turned to him, her eyes shooting emerald daggers at him.

          "You've ruined everything, Jefferson. You could have asked me to be your wife when it would have mattered. We could have been happy, we could have had love and passion and children. We could have grown old together. But you couldn't let yourself trust someone with your heart." She stalked to the door, stopping with her hand on the knob. "I hope you can live with what you've done and the choices you've made."

          Jefferson didn't try to stop her as she flung the door open and left him standing there by the fire. She was right, it was his fault. If he'd been honest with her, they could have had happiness. It wasn't his fault his mother had poured out her hatred on him for as long as he could remember, but it was his fault he'd listened to her. She'd made him believe no one would love him if they knew he was a bastard. She'd made him believe he'd be ruined if he told anyone. She'd made him believe he wasn't worthy of love. Who was he to believe otherwise? Emma had begun to make him believe Edith Madden was wrong, and he'd still kept it from her.

          "You should have told her you love her, Jeff," Robert said from the open doorway.

          Jefferson's head jerked up in surprise. "I can't."

          "Why? Are you afraid she won't believe you, or are you afraid she doesn't love you in return?" Robert asked gently, leaning casually against the door jamb.

"I know she loves me. I'm afraid of when she finds out the circumstances of my birth and her love turns to hate." Jefferson dropped onto the sofa and rested his head in his hands. "I don't want to see loathing in her eyes. I've had to live with seeing it from Edith. I don't think I could bear it from Emma. I -," he paused, looking up at Robert, pain evident in his eyes. "I love her, Robbie."

          It was the first time he'd said the words aloud and it felt good. Now if he could only say them to Emma. Robert clapped him on the back as he sat down beside him on the sofa.

          "Ain't it grand, that gut-wrenching emotion? Makes you feel like you don't know if you're coming or going? The hard part is admitting it to the object of your affection and giving her all that power over you," Robert grinned, his eyes twinkling with mirth.

          Jefferson raised a brow at his friend. "You're enjoying this, aren't you? Some friend," he snorted.

          "Nice to share the misery," Robert laughed.

 

*.*.*

 

          Emma screamed halfway down the stairs. Jefferson had broken through the locked door to their bedchamber and tossed her over his shoulder, stopping only long enough to grab her cloak. His hand came down on her backside, effectively cutting off her last shriek.

          "You can't do this, Jefferson!" she screamed. "I can't marry you. We'll make each other miserable," she cut off her shrieking, trying to reason with him.

          "We're getting married, Emma," he remarked with a weary sigh. Now that he'd admitted to everyone but her that he loved her, it was getting more and more aggravating to hear her protests on the subject of marriage.

          "I can't cook, you'll starve."

          "I’ll hire an army of cooks."

          "I can't ride a horse, I'll embarrass you."

          "You can learn," he grinned indulgently. "I'll teach you myself, sweetling." She really was grasping for any excuse, he thought, fighting to hold back his mirth.

          "I'm jealous and possessive. You'll never have a moment's peace."

          Jefferson ran his hand over her backside in a smooth caress. "So am I, Emma. Besides, you don't have a reason to be jealous when I want no woman other than you."

          "I have a bad habit of speaking my mind without thinking things through first."

          "Shut up, Emma."

          "But, Jefferson —" They were nearly to the front door and still she hadn't thought how to get him to give up this insane notion of marriage.

          His hand came down on her behind again, cutting her off. "I don't care what's going on in that head of yours, Emma. You're not getting out of this. Besides, there is one aspect of marriage neither of us can complain about."

          Emma squeezed her eyes tightly shut, certain she knew where he was going with this. His hand drifted over her behind, squeezing gently. "And what's that?" she asked, breathless with what he was stirring in her.

          "I get to have you beneath me in my bed whenever I wish, little rabbit."

          Emma gasped, feeling her pulse quicken. "I'll never go to bed with you again. Grounds for an annulment or a divorce. You choose."

          Jefferson's shoulder shook with laughter under her stomach where she bounced along out into the drive and the waiting coach. "We can base our marriage on primal lust. If we can't agree on anything else, Emma, at least we have an abundance of lust."

          Jefferson set her on her feet and pulled her into his embrace, claiming her lips in a savage kiss. She was breathless when he finally released her. "See, rabbit, even now your heart is racing, your face is flushed with desire, and you're clinging to me. I could take you upstairs and you'd beg me to bed you," he said crudely. His pride still stung from her callous refusal to have him.

          "Bastard!" she hissed, slapping the smirk from his lips. The color drained from his face as he fingered the mark on his cheek.

          He ground his teeth together and shoved her into the coach, slamming the door behind her. "Get used to it, Emma, and remember this is what you've been begging for."

          She didn't know how close she'd come to the truth as she watched him mount his horse and set off up the drive, leading the way to Gretna Green. Robert sat across from her, a concerned frown marring his features. Killian sat next to her, rubbing his hand over his eyes. Silently, Robert offered her a handkerchief to dry the tears coursing down her cheeks.

          "Don't call him that, Emma," he scolded her gently. "Ever."

          Emma glanced out at the passing scenery, trying to block out the image of his face when she'd called him a bastard. She swung her gaze back to Robert, her eyes accusing. "Oh, my God!" she exclaimed. "Robert, so help me … if you tell me that's what his entire —"

          Robert lowered his eyes, confirming her suspicions without saying a word. "Jefferson is a very complicated man, Emma. It's going to take time for you to break through the layers."

          Emma began to laugh. Of all the stupid reasons for him to reject her, being a bastard was just ridiculous. How could he think she'd hate him? It wasn't his fault how he’d been conceived. And it just made what she had to do even more difficult. It was his turn. His turn to convince her of his love. Because she was now sure he loved her. And he was just going to have to pay for withholding it from her. Her eyes narrowed mischievously as she thought of how she'd make him pay. And only after he'd suffered sufficiently could they finally be happy.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: A wedding … if you want to call it that … This chapter contains adult themes and situations, yes, more smut!

          "You're not going to make him drag you from the coach, are you?" Robert asked in alarm. "I mean, damn, Emma, how would that look?"

          Killian stood next to Robert trying not to laugh, a roguish grin etched upon his lips. "Oh, I don't know, Rob. It might be good for a laugh," he drawled.

          Emma dug in her heels as Jefferson climbed into the coach, his eyes menacing. She wasn't going to make it easy on him. Just as he made a grab for her, she flung the opposite door open and bounded out of the coach. She hit the ground running, her skirt gripped tightly in her hand and far more ankle on display that was appropriate, her cloak billowing out behind her. She didn't care which direction, as long as it would take her far away from Jefferson and the chapel which sat a short distance away.

          Jefferson crawled after her through the open door, his foot getting caught on the step and sending him sprawling. "A little help wouldn't seem amiss here, Robbie!" he shouted over his shoulder as he came to his feet and broke into a run, Robert and Killian not far behind.

          "Emma, Stop!" Robert yelled, making an attempt to help. He knew if she was anything like Belle, it was a useless waste of his breath. Emma kept running, skirting around the chapel and into the small cemetery at its rear. "Killian!" Robert pointed to his left, sending his friend in that direction, he himself going to the right, behind Jefferson's retreating form.

          Emma looked over her shoulder to judge the distance between herself and her pursuers and tripped ... right into an open grave. Jefferson winced as he skidded to a halt and looked down into the hole where she was sprawled in a heap. Her shrieks could surely be heard all the way back to the English border. He could only be thankful there wasn't a fresh body in the grave.

          Jefferson jumped into the hole after her and helped her to her feet. "Are you hurt?" he asked, brushing dirt from her face. "You could've broken your foolish neck!"

          "Stop yelling at me, brute!"

          "Then stop being a brat!"

          "Excuse me, but could we possibly get on with this?" Robert asked, at the end of his patience.

          Jefferson, however, wasn't done with the argument. He grabbed Emma by her upper arms and gave her a gentle shake. "What did you expect to accomplish, Emma? Where are you to run?"

          "Anything is better than being forced to marry a man who doesn't love me!" she shouted back at him.

          Jefferson quirked a brow at her, pulling her into his arms, his gaze on her mouth. "I promise, rabbit, later I will show you just how much love I have for you," he warned heatedly, his voice sending a shiver down her spine.

          She gripped tightly to the lapels of his great coat, her eyes flashing emerald daggers at him. "Can't you see this is wrong, Jefferson. We should have had time to work through our issues. We were building something wonderful and now it's going straight to hell because you're being forced to marry me. I don't want you to hate me," she cried, her voice hoarse with unshed tears she refused to let fall.

          "I could never hate you, Em," he whispered, feeling the sting of tears in his own eyes. Already he was making her miserable and she didn't even know what she was in for when they reached Rochefort.

          "You will if you persist with this insanity. Jefferson," she groaned, reaching up to cup his face in her icy hands. "You know I want nothing more than to have you as my husband, but I want your happiness first. There's so much sadness in you and I can't help you if you won't let me in. I can't marry you with that between us!"

          "We don't have a choice. You've been compromised … well and truly. I —"

          "There's always a choice. Let us continue as we have been. We can have Robert refuse Lord Wendell's suit. He's well within his rights as my guardian." She knew she was grasping at fine straws, but she didn't want what they'd been building between them to fall apart. "Please."

          "No. I won't take the chance that Robbie can't break the contract. I won't let that man have you, Em … I can't."

          "Jefferson," Robert warned in a low voice. "Could we save this for later and get you two out of the ground? This is a bit creepy even for you, man."

          "Don't you recall that time when we —"

          "Not now, Killian!" Jefferson hissed over his shoulder.

          Robert grabbed Emma's hands and pulled her out of the hole while Killian lent his assistance to Jefferson. Jefferson carefully dusted Emma down to rid her of the dirt her clothes had picked up, to which she protested the entire time.

          "Do you have to beat me to death?" she complained. Jefferson took her hand and began dragging her back to the chapel where the priest had come out to investigate the noise coming from the cemetery.

          "Good evening, Father," Robert said in greeting. "We've a wedding for you to perform this evening if it's not too much bother." Robert shook the priest's hand, shoving several gold pieces into the man's hand.

          "Of course, milord, of course. And where is the happy couple?"

          Jefferson stepped forward, dragging a struggling Emma in his wake. Robert grimaced and nodded in their direction. "This is The Earl of Rochefort, Lord Jefferson Madden and his lovely fiancé, Lady Emma Morrison, my ward."

          "And you are?" the priest asked.

          "Robert Gold, Duke of Sheffield," Robert said, dropping several more coins into the priest's hands.

          "Come in, Your Grace, and let's see about getting these two on the road to wedded bliss." The priest ushered them all into the chapel and brought forth the large ledger which had recorded many marriages over the years. Jefferson signed his name and handed the quill to Emma.

          "Sign it, Emma," he hissed in her ear, the warning clear in his tone. Her eyes shot minute shards of ice at him, her displeasure at being coerced evident in her gaze as she dipped the quill into the inkpot and stabbed the paper with it, signing her name. The priest produced a certificate which he'd quickly filled out and she signed that as well, thrusting the quill back at Jefferson so he could do the same. All that was left was the actual ceremony.

          Robert and Killian stood on either side of her at the altar, each holding one of her arms to keep her in place. They'd already proven how useless it would be for her to run, so this really wasn't necessary. They didn't want to take any chances, regardless. Emma didn't pay attention to the priest as he recited the vows to Jefferson.

          "Lady Emma, repeat after me," Father Andrews intoned. "I, Emma, promise to love, honor, cherish and obey —"

          "No."

          Three identical groans met that answer.

          "I beg your pardon?" Father Andrews asked, incredulous.

          "No," Emma repeated.

          Robert raked a hand through his hair and closed his eyes, praying for patience. "She does."

          "No, I don't, Robert," she insisted. "I really don't want to marry this man, Father."

          "Well —" the priest began, but Robert cut him off.

          "As her guardian, it is my will that she be married to this man, Father. He will be a good husband to her, of this I have no doubt."

          "Milady?" Father Andrews asked. "Do you take this man for your husband?"

          Emma glanced at Jefferson. He was standing there, a muscle twitching in his jaw. What did he have to be angry about? He should be happy she had refused. She turned back to the priest and nodded. "Fine. I do."

          Father Andrews pronounced them man and wife and it was over. Jefferson grabbed her hand and dragged Emma out of the church. He said not a word as he bundled her into her cloak and tossed her up onto the saddle of his horse, mounting behind her. He pulled her back against his chest and tightened his arms around her. He shouted over his shoulder to Robert that they were heading for Winterhaven and kicked his horse into a gallop.

          Emma grasped Jefferson's arm with both hands and held on, pressing her face to the front of his jacket, shielding her face from the cold. She couldn't believe she was actually married, and to the man she’d yearned to have for months. And he was miserable already. She was at a loss as to how she was going to get him to open up to her. Why did he have to make everything so bloody difficult?

          He probably thought she was going to be a willing participant in their wedding night. But after his crass remarks this evening before they'd even set off on this journey, he had another think coming. She was sleeping alone. She needed time to think, to muddle through the mess she'd made. Granted, she wasn't the only one at fault. Maybe if she hadn't pushed so hard. Maybe if … she didn't love him so much.

          Jefferson looked down at his wife and frowned. He couldn't see her for the hood of her cloak, couldn't see her lovely face, couldn't judge her mood. His  _wife_ _!_ Unbelievable! He wondered if Robert had told her in the coach on the trip north. No, he assured himself. Robert wouldn't tell her even if she guessed correctly. What was he going to do with her? He couldn't allow himself to get any closer to her, couldn't let himself love her any more than he already did. It would be too painful once she learned the truth and turned away from him. He never wanted to see hate in Emma's lovely eyes.

          He would take her to Rochefort and let her see what she'd fought so hard for. Emma would just  _love_  his mother, he thought maliciously. His lovely wife would put Edith Madden in her place in no time flat, but he wouldn't be there to witness it. Edith was certain to tell Emma the ugly truth five minutes into her visit and that would be the end of Emma's love for him. She'd turn those accusing eyes on him and rail at him for letting the marriage happen where she couldn't escape. At least not without a scandal. But she would be safe from a marriage to Malcolm Wendell.

          The hood of Emma's cloak fell back, revealing her face. Jefferson looked down at her and smiled sadly. She'd fallen asleep, secure in the fact that he'd let no harm come to her. Her hand had slipped into his jacket and wrapped around his back. One more night. He'd let himself have one more night with her, his _wedding_ night. He couldn't continue to enjoy her after that. He couldn't risk his heart. Then when she turned against him, he wouldn't have to suffer the pain of her rejection. He'd rebuild the wall which had served him so well over the years, the wall which had prevented him from loving anyone. A wall which had been firmly intact before this little slip of girl had broken through with a battering ram and dared to love him. If he could get it back in place, he was certain he'd be able to keep her from tearing it down again.

 

*.*.*

 

          Jefferson slowed his horse to a trot as he came over the rise, Winterhaven finally in sight, nestled in the valley below. It looked like a frosted cake from all the recent snow. The sun was coming up behind them and he had to stifle a yawn. They'd had little sleep since leaving London. Jefferson smiled down at the sleeping bundle of his wife, knowing sleep would further elude him once they reached the manor.

          Jefferson reached beneath Emma's cloak and squeezed her hip. "Wake up, rabbit. We're nearly home."

          Emma moaned throatily in her sleep. "I don't want to go to London. Mother's going to make me go shopping with her. Find a place to hide me, cousin."

          He was unable to hide the laughter which bubbled from his lips. "You're dreaming, Emma. Wake up," he chuckled, shaking her gently. Emma pulled the hood of her cloak back over her face and snuggled closer. Jefferson moved his hand higher, so it skimmed the underside of her breast. "Wake up, Lady  _Madden_."

          Emma's eyes flew open to glare at him, her mouth gaping. "Don't you dare call me that, Jefferson," she hissed, removing his hand from under her cloak and pulling it more securely around her.

          His laughter rang through the tiny valley. "You're my wife, my countess. I can call you anything I bloody well please. This is what you wanted, remember?" he chided.

          "Oh, yes, Jefferson. It was a wedding I will remember for the rest of my days," she sneered sarcastically as he pulled on the reins.

          She’d wanted to be married at Sheffield with only the duke, duchess and dowager in attendance … well, and maybe Killian since he was a close family friend. She’d wanted Robert to give her away, to see Jefferson standing before the parson with love written all over his beautiful face … not the travesty of her elopement to Scotland!

          Her husband dismounted and lifted her to the ground before swinging her up into his arms. "What are you doing? I can walk."

          "Yes, my darling, but will you walk where I want you to go? Besides, it's customary for the groom to carry his bride over the threshold."

          Emma narrowed her eyes on him. He was really enjoying himself. He had fought this marriage tooth and nail and now he was enjoying himself. She wiggled, trying to get him to set her down, but he merely tightened his grip. He mounted the stairs to take them upstairs to their bedchamber and Emma poked him in the side where she knew he was ticklish. "Put me down!"

          "Stop that before I drop you."

          "Let me go and you won't have to worry about dropping me."

          "No."

          "What do you mean, no?" she asked suspiciously.

          "I mean — NO!"

          "But —"

          Jefferson cut her off, kissing her into silence. "Ow!" he howled, dropping his arm from under her legs. Emma ran for the suite, bypassing the bedchamber they'd occupied earlier in favor of the duchess' compartments, locking the door behind her. She hadn't bitten him hard, just a nip to gain her freedom.

          She pressed her ear to the door, listening. He went past her door and into the bedroom, shouting her name. She could hear him searching for her and then nothing. She leaned closer, straining to hear, wondering if she dared open the door to see what had happened to him.

          "You forgot to lock the bathroom door, sweetheart," he whispered near her ear as he lifted her once more into his arms and stalked back to the door he'd entered.

          "No, Jefferson. I can't," she cried, her hands clinging to him in case he decided to drop her again.

          He stopped next to the large sunken tub and set her down, removing her cloak and tossing it on a bench set against the wall. "Don't you want a bath? I had left instructions for it to be ready when we returned." He began plucking at the buttons on the bodice of her gown. "It will warm you and free you from the road dust, not to mention the dirt from the grave you careened into."

          Emma shuddered, remembering her folly, but she couldn't trust herself to disrobe in front of him. Already he was too near and the familiar heat which radiated between them was sparking to life within her. "No, I'm not getting in that tub with you," she insisted, crossing her arms over her chest to prevent him from removing her gown.

          Jefferson wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in the curve of her neck, trailing his lips to her ear and taking the lobe in his mouth. "Take your bath, Emma." He released her and left the room.

          Emma stared after him, incredulous. Really? He was just going to leave her to her own devices? On their wedding night?

_You did tell him you weren't sharing his bed again._

_Shut it!_

_You did get what you wanted. You're married._

_But he doesn't love me._

_Are you so sure? He could've let you marry Wendell or even Killian._

_That's only because he loathes Wendell and he doesn't want Killian to be stuck with me. Killian's his friend. Why would he want his friend to be shackled to someone like me?_

_Now you're just feeling sorry for yourself._

_Am not!_

_Why can't you just admit you want back in his bed?_

_Fine. I want back in his bed. But I want into his heart more. Therein lies the problem._

          Emma's shoulders slumped as she finished disrobing and waded into the tub. How was she going to get him to make love to her when she'd insisted she wouldn't share his bed again? She wanted his passion, his fire and most of all she wanted to put her hands on him again. The feel of his bare skin beneath her hands had become like an addiction to her and she wasn't ready to give it up just yet.

          She made quick work of washing her hair, reveling in being clean once again. Emma gasped as Jefferson splashed into the tub behind her. "What —"

          Jefferson held up a hand to cut her off. "No need to panic, little wife. It's just you were taking so long in here, I didn't want the water to grow cold before it was my turn," he said casually. Emma noticed the smoky tint to his eyes as his gaze settled on her mouth. Her heart began beating a rapid tempo in her chest and she had to fight back a satisfied smile. He still wanted her.

          Squaring her shoulders, she moved past him and retrieved a towel from the side of the tub, leaving the water and wrapping it around her dripping body. "I'll leave you to it then." She grabbed another towel and began drying her hair, sitting on a divan next to the tub.

          Jefferson's eyes never left her as he reached for the ceramic pot containing the soft soap. "Would you wash my back, Emma?" he asked, a teasing smile playing on his lips.

          Emma's eyes darkened as she contemplated all that golden skin beneath her very slippery hands. She shook herself mentally and formed one word. "No."

          "You're a hard woman, Emma." Jefferson fought back a grin at her discomfort. He knew she was thinking about the last time they had been in the tub together. Just as he was. "Even now you're eating me with your eyes. Wouldn't you like to come back into the water with me?"

          Emma snapped her eyes shut and prayed for the strength to resist his tempting offer. She swallowed nervously. "I don't think so." Before she lost her will, she pulled herself together and left the room. She dug through her trunk sitting at the foot of the huge four poster bed, trying to find something to sleep in. Her hands found one revealing nightdress after another.  _Damnit, Belle! This is the last time I let you pack for me._

          The lingerie had to have come from Belle's own collection. They were positively scandalous. She couldn't wear any of these for Jefferson. She was blushing just imagining how he'd look at her. She smacked herself on the forehead. The most obvious reason for Belle to pack such things, for Emma to tempt Jefferson. And wasn't that what she'd wanted to begin with? And nothing in white, she thought with dismay.

          Wasn't a bride supposed to wear white on her wedding night? She didn't think the brazen red gown in her hands was appropriate and tossed it back into the trunk. Royal blue, emerald green, deep purple, they were in every color. Finally, having run out of choices, she found one in black. She held it up in front of her and gasped. It was completely sheer with lace strategically placed to hide the important parts of her anatomy. He wouldn't be able to resist. She dug into the trunk and came up with the matching robe made entirely of lace. Emma smiled and thought she just may need to pay a visit to Belle's modiste.

          Emma donned the revealing lingerie and sat on the rug before the blazing hearth, pulling the hairbrush through her waist length hair. She needed to cut it, realizing how long it was going to take to dry. Her back was to the door leading into the bathroom, so he wouldn't notice her gown when first entering their bedroom. All she had to do now was wait.

          Jefferson laid his head against the side of the tub and groaned, wishing the water would cool enough to help calm his desire for his wife. He really didn't want to have to lie down in the snow again. That was an experience he hoped never to have to repeat. How pathetic was it, to be lusting after one's own wife, he thought with disgust.

          His reputation was well known in London. He was a rake, taking his pleasure where he could find it. Be it from a tavern wench down at the docks or a lovely widow from a ball, it mattered not to him. He was never without a tempting companion for the evening. His brows drew together in a frown. He couldn't recall the face of any woman of his acquaintance. Yet, he could recall every minute detail of Emma's lovely features. He knew every curve and line of her body. And now she belonged to him. He had the certificate tucked away in his jacket as proof. Yet, she didn't want him anymore. Wasn't that usually the way of it, too. Once they got you shackled to them, they didn't want physical desire anymore. Damn the whole lot.

          Jefferson lifted himself out of the lukewarm water and wrapped a towel about his waist, shaking the water from his hair. Well, too bad. He still wanted her. He slipped his arms into the silk robe he'd laid on the divan and belted it. She was probably hiding from him again, he thought miserably. He wasn't expecting her to be sitting before the fire drying her hair.

 _Aha, opportunity!_  He thought with a sly smile.

          Emma stiffened as Jefferson sat down behind her on the rug and took the hairbrush from her shaking hand. "Black, Emma?" he asked dubiously as he pulled the brush through her hair. Though if this were to be the death of their relationship, it was a fitting color to mourn the occasion. "I thought brides were supposed to wear white on their wedding night."

          She shivered. Who knew it could be so erotic to have a man brush her hair? She shook herself mentally. If it had been any other man besides Jefferson, she doubted she'd be sitting by and letting him attend to her. "Belle didn't pack anything white. I mean —" She wet her suddenly dry lips. "She didn't pack any nightclothes in that color." Lovely. Now she couldn't think rationally. His nearness was causing the logical thinking part of her brain to shut down. "Besides, we're not having a wedding night."

          Jefferson set the hairbrush aside and gathered her hair into his hands, wrapping the length about his wrist and forearm. He pulled until her head tipped back, his lips finding the curve of her neck. "Why, Emma? Don't you want me anymore?" he asked, his other hand at her waist sliding upward to cup her breast.

          "No," she said on a sigh.

          "Liar." Jefferson sucked her earlobe into his mouth. "I can feel you trembling, Emma." Using the hand tangled in her hair, he turned her head to trail his lips along her jaw.

          Emma felt her desire pool between her legs as his hand caught on the lace hem of her nightgown. His fingertips skimmed lightly along her calf, her knee and finally her thigh, trailing gooseflesh with them. She had to fight to maintain the control to resist him. This wasn't going to be easy. Holding herself back from him was going to be absolute torture. He could only be pushed so far before she pushed him right out the door, along with any hope of them ever finding happiness.

          Jefferson kissed the corner of her mouth lightly. "Let me love you, Emma," he whispered, turning her in his arms so he could see into her eyes. He knew he'd be able to see the truth there even when her lips were lying to him. "Tell me you want me, love."

          Emma's lower lip trembled as she formed that one word he hated above all others. "No." She knew it wouldn't do any good to deny him, he would take her despite her protests. It wouldn't be force because she  _did_  want him. She just didn't want him to know that.

          Jefferson stood abruptly and raked a hand through his hair. "What is it you want now, Emma? For weeks it was always the same with you — 'Ask me, Jefferson'. I marry you and now you don't want to be married. Make up your bloody mind, woman! Tell me what you want," he pleaded angrily. He would have given her the moon if she'd asked it of him.

          Emma lowered her eyes to her lap, unable to look at the confusion on his handsome face. She really was making this more difficult than it had to be, but she had to make him believe she had his best interests at heart. "An annulment," she said in barely more than a whisper.

          Jefferson took a step back, his mind reeling with astonishment. He couldn't have heard her right. Not his Emma. "I beg your pardon? Have you suddenly taken leave of your senses?"

          "If we get an annulment, you'll be free. You don't want to be married to me, Jefferson. You've said so too many times. The only reason you married me was to save me. I don't think that's reason enough to —"

          "I don't give a damn  _what_  you think right now, Emma. It's done."

          "But don't you see? It can be undone," she argued.

          Jefferson thought quickly, grasping for a reason to change her mind. She was right. He hadn't wanted to get married. He hadn't wanted a wife, a wife who would discover his secret and hate him for it, but he couldn't let Emma go. She would have the protection of his name – safe from the likes of bounders like Malcolm Wendell - and she would never want for anything.

          "Don't you realize you could already be carrying my child?"

          "But —" Emma rose to her feet and covered her flat belly with her hands, her robe gaping open.

Jefferson stopped breathing as he took in her scanty attire. Emma glanced up sharply as she heard him exhale on a hiss. Then she remembered what she was wearing, and her eyes widened in alarm. His desire was written all over his face and she knew he wouldn't take no for an answer now.

          Emma held up her hands palms out to ward off his attack. It was the only way she could explain his actions as he stalked to her and clasped her to his body, her hands braced against his chest. "Jefferson, stop!"

          "Where did you get this … this … I can't even call it a nightgown!" he hissed as he lifted her struggling form in his arms and carried her to the bed. "You wore this just to tempt me, didn't you?" He laid her on the bed and immediately covered her body with his to prevent her escape.

          "Does that really matter right now? Where I got it?" she asked breathlessly. He ran his hands up the insides of her arms and held her hands to the bed above her head, his lips finding the curve of her neck. "Oooh, that's nice," she moaned, hooking her leg over his hip.

          "No annulment, Emma," he whispered against her ear.

          "A divorce?" she asked, moving her hips beneath him, unable to get close enough.

          "No divorce, Emma." He used his teeth to rend the bodice of her gown, holding her hands with just one of his so he could use the other to rip it to her navel. He slipped his hand into the torn gown and cupped her breast, rolling the nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Emma arched her back off the bed, moaning into his mouth as his lips claimed hers in a kiss which branded her with his desire, his possession.

          "Jefferson, I –"

          "Mine, Emma," he rasped, his voice strained with his control. "Say it." He ripped her gown again until it opened for him and unbelted his robe. Emma pushed it over his shoulders and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him down for her kiss, but she refused to say it. She showed him instead, running her nails down his back and scoring his neck with her own brand. He was hers and she would fight for him, he just had to realize that he wanted more than her body.

          "Say it, love," he commanded, settling himself fully between her legs, waiting. "Say you're mine, Emma. I need to hear you say it." The muscle was ticking in his jaw, his teeth clenched.

          Emma's resolve nearly faltered. "I want you," she relented enough to say, kissing the corner of his mouth.

          "Say it."

          "I love you," she whispered, holding his gaze. His control disintegrated and he thrust into her, burying himself in her tight sheath. She matched his rhythm, her hips rising to meet him. "I love you, Jefferson."  _But I won't be yours until I hold your heart,_  she added silently, letting her pleasure wash over her.

          Jefferson gathered her close and covered them with the blankets, reluctant to let her go, even in sleep. "You'll say it eventually, Emma. But you will not speak of annulments or a divorce ever again. Do you understand,  _wife_?"

          "Go to sleep, my darling," she yawned and curled her hand around his hip. She could contemplate the state of their marriage in the morning. For now, she just wanted to sleep sated and content in her husband's arms, knowing it was probably going to be last bit of peace she'd get for a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Popular opinion … Jefferson is a lummox!


	10. Chapter 10

          Emma slammed the window shade down on the coach window and sat back against the cushions with a low growl. Lovely! she thought in irritation. The cursed man had her growling. The trip south had been nothing in comparison to their trip north to Winterhaven. Absolutely miserable. She fought back tears of frustration, refusing to shed another tear over that man.

          Jefferson had rushed her out of bed the morning after their farce of a wedding, insisting she dress with all speed so they could be on their way. Their way where? Rochefort. That, in and of itself, was enough to send her into a panic. He was taking her home to meet the dowager countess, his mother, and from what she'd gleaned of the woman from Robert, this was the last person she'd ever want to meet.

          She'd been in the coach for three days. Three bloody days! He hadn't even wanted to stop at the posting inns except to change horses and have a meal. A meal he wouldn't even share with her, much less a bed. He was avoiding her, she knew. Distancing himself from her and building his walls to keep her away from his heart. S

          he was quickly losing her patience. She tried to be everything he wanted. She was polite and well mannered, soft spoken and genteel. Emma was everything a well brought-up young woman should be, everything her mother had wanted her to be, and she was miserable. Often, she would catch Jefferson staring at her like he didn't know who she was. She was disappearing and becoming someone she didn't know.

          If this was marriage, she wanted no part of it. She wanted to be able to talk to her husband and share the day to day mundane with him. She wanted to know his touch, his thoughts, his worries, but Jefferson would share _nothing_ with her. At least before their marriage, he would talk to her. Now he had shut himself off completely or else had given her short one-word responses to her questions. It was becoming intolerable, and her heart ached with loneliness. She missed him.

          Emma lifted the shade once more and peered out at the darkening countryside. It would be full dark soon. Hopefully, they would be stopping soon to change the horses and grab a quick bite. For once, she was starving. Her hunger was no doubt being fueled by her intense anger. She let the shade drop back into place. Jefferson would be riding his horse either directly in front of the coach or bringing up the rear, preventing her from engaging him in conversation.

          She was nearly asleep, having lamented silently for the better part of the day, when the coach slowed to a stop. Surprise made her mouth gape open when the coach door opened and Jefferson himself stood there, his hand reaching in to take hers.

          "Don't look so bloody surprised, Emma," he ground out through clenched teeth. "Did you think you'd have to face the old harpy by yourself?"

          Emma quirked a brow at him. "We're finally at your home?" she asked, choking back the panic 4 rising up to choke her. She placed her hand in his and let him help her from the coach, but she wouldn't release it as he tried to move away from her.

          He frowned down at her and tucked her hand into the crook of his arm, leading her forward to the open front door of the manor. Emma looked up at the grand structure which was to be her new home and smiled. It was made of gray stone and reached three stories into the sky with not a turret in sight. At least she would be living in an actual manor house and not a castle like her cousin. A bit of normalcy wouldn't be amiss, she thought with delight.

          That was where the normalcy ended. As soon as Mr. Woodward, the Rochefort butler, opened the door to admit them, the shrieking began. Emma felt Jefferson stiffen, an expression of outward calm masking the anger she could feel brewing in him. She turned her gaze to the woman who had just entered the foyer, a twisted sneer on the dowager countess's face.

          Edith Madden couldn't have been more than five foot two, thin of frame with streaks of gray in her light brown hair. She might have been a lovely woman at one time, but years of hate had ravaged her face, her clear hazel eyes narrowed with loathing. Emma couldn't understand how any woman could look upon Jefferson with such hate. He was one of the finest men she knew, definitely unworthy of such abhorrence.

          Edith's eyes swung to Emma, raking her petite frame and finding her lacking. "Now you're bringing your trollops home?"

          Jefferson sighed wearily and raked his hand through his hair. "Hello, Mother. Lovely to see you as always," he remarked dryly, displeasure evident in his cool grey gaze.

          Edith pointed her finger at Emma. "She can't stay here, Jefferson," she said imperiously, looking down her long nose at her.

          "You're wrong on that count,  _Mother_. You forget so easily that this is my home," he drawled, knowing how she hated his use of that word. She would have preferred he curse at her rather than use that dreaded term. "May I present my wife, Lady Emma Madden," he paused dramatically for effect, "the new Countess of Rochefort."

          Edith turned the full force of her fulminating glare on Emma. "So, you married the bastard, did you? Wonderful of you to take pity on him. Lord knows, no one else would have him." Her smile was full of venom. "Let him take you to London, m'dear. You're not welcome here in  _my_ home."

          Emma's grip on Jefferson's arm was growing painful as her nails dug through his sleeve. He closed his eyes and swallowed painfully against the lump in his throat, waiting for Emma to turn on him. He could feel her trembling with anger.

          Instead, she tugged at his arm, following the retreating form of his mother. " _Milady_ ," Emma began, her voice honey sweet. Jefferson groaned. He knew that tone all too well. "If you ever call my husband that name again, I will not be held responsible for the damage I do to your person."

          "How dare you!" Edith shrieked.

          Emma's smile never faltered. "Oh, Lady Madden, I really hate to be such an inconvenience, but you've left me no alternative. Since this is to be my new home, I'm going to have to ask you to find accommodations … elsewhere." Jefferson's eyes widened, incredulous. But Emma wasn't finished. "If we're to raise our children here, they won't be made to suffer your vindictiveness as Jefferson has."

          "Jefferson, you aren't going to allow this, are you?" Edith asked, her hand going to her throat. She'd grown so used to taking out her anger on Jefferson over the years, she wasn't used to someone actually standing up to her. "I'm your mother. You can't put me out on the street."

          Jefferson could feel the weight of his burdens lift from his shoulders. All because of this little slip of a girl he'd married. He smiled down at Emma and covered her hand with his. "Not to worry, Mother. I mean, how would that look? I'll arrange new living quarters for you in Bath."

          "Bath?"

          "Certainly, Mother. Somewhere far from us where you can't spew your bile any longer."

          "I'll ruin you! There won't be a member of the  _ton_  who will give you the time of day, much less an invitation to the parties you're so wont to indulge in. No one will want to have anything to do with you once I'm done," she threatened, her face twisting in a vicious snarl of outrage.

          Emma's eyes narrowed just the slightest bit as she arched a brow at the dowager. "You would really hurt him, slander his good name, for petty revenge? How miserable you must be with your own failures that you would take out your bitterness on an innocent child." She turned her eyes up to her husband's, his own eyes reflecting the pain she'd caused him for too many years to count. It only fueled the rage which simmered beneath her skin. "I'm assuming you began your viciousness when he was only a child. How dare you?" she asked, astonished anyone would blame an innocent for actions which had nothing to do with him.

          "You know nothing of what I've suffered."

          "What of his suffering? Did you never think of that, Lady Madden? Did you never think he would have loved you despite the fact you didn't bear him into this world?" Emma continued, slowly advancing on the woman. "You have heaped his father's sins upon his head instead of placing the blame and your hate on your husband. You've poured out all your loathing on him instead of questioning why your husband turned to another woman." She drew herself up to her full stature, her back ramrod straight as she looked down her nose at her mother-in-law. "I feel nothing but pity for you, but I will tell you this. If you try to hurt my husband, I will use every one of my resources to slowly destroy you. And don't for one moment think I can't."

          Jefferson left her standing there and pulled Emma along behind him to his study. For once he didn't feel the need to drown himself with scotch. He wanted to celebrate. "Woodward, fetch a bottle of champagne for me, my good man." He was so happy he felt like whistling.

          At least, he did before he closed the study door and noticed the tight set of Emma's features. She crossed her arms over her chest. She looked like she was physically trying to hold her anger inside herself. Her eyes were full of fire, but it wasn't desire making them glow like twin emeralds. Oh, no … she was furious.

          "That was quite a display out there, rabbit," he praised, his voice husky with emotion as he grasped her upper arms and pulled her gently into his embrace. Emma smiled sweetly and kicked him in his shin. He released her immediately, howling in pain and grabbing for his injured leg.

          Emma stood her ground, waiting for him to retaliate, the tight leash she had on her anger finally slipping free. "This, Jefferson! This is what you were so afraid of?"

          "Yes!" he hissed, his own anger coming to the fore. "Yes, Emma, I'm the bastard son of John Madden. There, I said it. I should've known it would be the first words out of my mother's mouth upon our arrival. She'd want to make sure I never received another moment's peace."

          A knock sounded on the door, giving Emma a moment to collect her thoughts. "Come in!" Jefferson barked. Woodward backed into the room carrying a tray with a bottle of champagne and two fine crystal flutes. He quirked a brow at Jefferson as he set the tray on the desk, but said nothing and left the newlyweds alone.

          Emma rubbed her hand across her brow to relieve the tension building behind her eyes. She knew he was waiting for her to say something … _anything_. "I cannot believe this is what you were so worried about. I had my suspicions, but I didn't want to believe you could be so … bloody stupid!"

          "What?" he asked, nearly slipping off the arm of the sofa in his surprise. He paused, realizing what she'd said, but not wanting to believe it. "Wait. Did you just call me stupid?"

          "No, you ass. I called you  _bloody_  stupid," Emma hissed, her hands on her hips. He was surprised she wasn't wagging a finger under his nose.

          "Why?"

          "Don't you know me at all, Jefferson? Don't you know that I love you for the man you are? I don't care which side of the blanket you were born on. I don't care how much money or how many estates you own, and I don't care if you have a title. All I ever wanted was to be with you, to love you, and to have you love me in return."

          "I do lo —"

          Emma silenced him with a look. "Don't you dare say you love me, Jefferson Madden. Not now." A tear escaped the corner of her eye. "You should've trusted me. Why couldn't you have trusted me? You let that  _woman_  poison your mind until you felt you weren't worthy of love. Well, I hope you're happy." Emma gathered her cloak around her and strode to the study door.

          "Where are you going?" he asked, his eyes widening. He couldn't let her walk out that door, out of his life.

          "I'm going home to London, to Robbie and Belle," she stated, her hand on the door knob.

          "You can't leave me, Emma. You're my wife."

          "A wife you didn't want," she reminded him. "I gave you so many chances to follow your heart, to ask me to marry you and you let your fear of what your mother might do prevent you from finding happiness with me."

          "Well, I want you now. I love you, Emma," he said softly, his heart in his eyes. Emma refused to look up into his face. She knew if she finally saw what she'd been yearning for, she wouldn't be able to walk out that door. She needed time to heal from his many rejections. He needed time to realize just how he felt about her. They had too many issues to work through just now for her to stay.

          "I'm sorry, Jefferson, but it's too late."

          Emma walked out the door and allowed a groom to hand her up into the coach which was being readied to return to London and Robert's townhouse. She wondered how long it would be before Jefferson followed and tried to talk her into returning to him. If he really loved her, it wouldn't be long. She let the dam of her tears free to course down her face, knowing how hard it was going to be to return to London without him. But he was going to have to pay the price for his stubbornness. He was going to have to woo her and court her and prove his love. She didn't want to think about the alternative.

 

*.*.*

 

          Belle jerked awake with a start and carefully began scooting out from under Robert's arm. "Where d'you think yer going?" he mumbled sleepily. He glanced bleary-eyed at the clock on the mantel, squinting in the dim light of the fire. "It's three o'clock in the bloody morning."

          "Let me up, Robbie," Belle demanded, trying to pry his arm from around her.

          "You  _cannot_  be hungry, love. You just had a snack two hours ago."

          "Emma."

          Robert sat up in the big four poster bed and looked around. "What? Where?" He shook his head to clear the last remnants of sleep from it. "No, Belle, she's at Rochefort."

          Belle rose unsteadily to her feet, thrusting her arms into the sleeves of her dressing robe. She leaned toward her husband and placed her hand to his cheek. "She's here, Robbie." She projected the pain she'd picked up from Emma right at Robert and he winced. "I'll be back soon. Go to sleep. There's no reason for both of us to lose sleep."

          Robert snorted and fell back onto the mountain of pillows propped against the headboard. "Sleep. What the hell is that? Can't remember the last time I had a decent night's sleep what with all the trips to the kitchen and the back rubs and ..."

          "Oh, hush!" Belle blew him a kiss as she flung the bedroom door open. "Sure you can remember, love. It was before you met me," she said with a wink and closed the door behind her. She crept down the hall and eased the door open to the bedroom Emma used when she stayed at the townhouse.

          Emma was buried under the covers, a pillow pulled over her face to muffle her cries. Belle's own eyes were burning with unshed tears as Emma's heartache washed over her. She pulled the covers back and eased herself into the bed with her cousin, pulling Emma into her arms.

          "Shh, darling. It's going to be alright," Belle crooned as she ran her fingers through Emma's hair. "It's alright, Em."

          Emma cried all the harder. "No, it's not. It was awful, Belle," she sobbed.

          "But I thought you loved him," Belle said softly. She couldn't have been wrong about the emotions she'd been reading from Emma and Jefferson while they'd been staying at the townhouse.

          "I do love him. I love him so much, Belle, but I don't know if that's going to be enough."

          Belle withdrew a lace handkerchief from the pocket of her dressing gown and dried Emma's tears. "Tell me what happened. And start from the beginning."

          "At Sheffield?" Emma asked with dismay. They'd be here all night if she had to go back to the beginning.

          "Sheffield?" Belle hissed. "This has been going on since the house party?"

          "Not exactly."

          "Everything, Emma. Don't leave out anything."

          Emma sighed and stared up at the canopy above her, trying to gather her thoughts. "Remember the ball at Sheffield?" Belle nodded. "I was running from Lord Wendell and hid in Robbie's study under the desk. I was rather distraught, and Jefferson was there to protect me. He offered me comfort, the first time he'd ever held me in his arms." Belle's eyes widened. "Don't look at me like that. Nothing happened. Really, Belle, he didn't even kiss me that night."

          "That night?" Belle asked, her brows shooting into her hairline. "When  _did_  he kiss you for the first time? Was it when Robbie and I caught you two in the kitchen?"

          "Yes, but Jefferson ruined it. He said he was trying to teach me a lesson."

          "What kind of lesson?" Belle asked, propping her head in her hand and turning so she could watch the play of emotions on Emma's face.

          Emma rolled her eyes in disgust. "Jefferson insisted he wanted me to know what desire felt like so when I finally chose a husband I wouldn't settle for one who didn't make me feel the same passion I felt for him."

          Belle rolled her own eyes and snorted. "You should've dumped your cup of cocoa in his lap." Emma met Belle's gaze and chuckled. "Then what happened? He was gone to Rochefort afterwards, right?"

          "Yes, and then the tragedy with my parents occurred. It wasn't until after I came to stay here and Robert's awful scheme with my dowry that everything fell apart."

          Belle groaned and rolled over onto her back, rubbing her very rounded belly. "It's all my fault."

          "No, it's not," Emma insisted.

          "It is, Emma. I knew how you and Jefferson felt about each other and I asked Robbie to put you forth on the marriage mart. I also asked him to plead with Jefferson to be your escort. I didn't think he'd be able to bear seeing you in another man's arms," Belle admitted guiltily.

          "Thank you," Emma said, kissing her cousin affectionately on the tip of her nose.

          Belle sat up and looked at her, a puzzled frown knitting her brow. "What? How could you thank me for —"

          "Belle, you were right. He couldn't stand it." Emma lowered her eyes to her hands clasped in her lap. "Each night he escorted me to a ball or a party —"

          "Robbie and I could've caught you at any time," Belle grinned knowingly. "And by then you had decided no other man would do."

          "I fell in love with him. I would've happily given myself to him if only he had asked me to marry him," she sighed softly, remembering all the kisses, the touches, they had shared downstairs in the parlor. She'd never be able to have tea in the parlor again without thinking of Jefferson and the passion they'd shared.

          Belle nodded in understanding. "His secret?"

          "Yes," Emma agreed. "He was letting that bloody stupid secret of his keep him from proposing. That  _woman_ , his mother, has been harping at him for years, convincing him no one would ever love him if they knew he was a bastard."

          "When did he tell you?"

          "He didn't."

          Belle winced. "But what happened in Northumberland at Winterhaven? I thought surely if you had time to spend alone together —"

          Emma cut her off with a bitter laugh. "It probably would've worked if it had been any other man. Not Jefferson. He was furious when he found out I was going with him. One moment, he would be sweet and gentle and the next he was pushing me away. One moment, he acted like he wanted to ask me, the next he was closed up tight as a drum."

          "He was waging an internal battle over what he wanted and what he didn't think he deserved. How awful," Belle said, rising from the bed to stand and ease the ache in her back.

          "Are you alright, Belle?" Emma asked with concern lacing her voice. It shouldn't be much longer before Belle was ready to give birth. Now would not be a good time, in her opinion.

          Belle waved a hand distractedly. "Finish the story, Emma."

          "Well," Emma began, trying to remember. "Oh, we ended up at this little posting inn for the night which only had one bed. Goes to show you how stubborn the man is. We had to share that bed and he never touched me."

          "What? If it had been Robbie, there's no way he would've had that much restraint with me. I must remember to commend Jefferson on his honor in future."

          "Well, not entirely, but he wouldn't —" A lovely blush rose to stain Emma's cheeks pink. "You know."

          Belle blushed as well, remembering all too well her own experiences with Robert. "Yes, well, um …"

          "Um is good," Emma said, Jefferson's words slipping from her lips before she could stop them. Her blush grew deeper.

          "Not even going to ask, darling."

          "Think that's for the best, cousin."

          Belle smiled, one corner of her mouth turning up in amusement. "What happened next?"

          "We got caught in a snow storm. It was horribly cold. I don't ever remember being that cold. The road was blocked, and we had to go on from there on horseback, but Jefferson got us there in one piece. Of course, by then I was the color of an icicle," Emma explained, shivering at the memory.

          "Let me guess the next part," Belle sat next to her cousin once again and took Emma's hands in hers. "He warmed you up and saved your life. Is that how Robbie found you in bed with him the next day?"

          Emma nodded. "Do you know the fool man still didn't want to marry me? He wouldn't tell me why, but he was quite insistent. It wasn't until he found out about the betrothal contract my father signed, binding me to Lord Wendell, that he finally changed his mind."

          Belle's heart was beginning to ache with sorrow for them. "And by then you didn't want to marry him any longer," she groaned, stating the obvious. "A woman can only have her heart crushed so many times before she fights to protect it."

          "I gave him everything I possessed, Belle. He had my heart, my love, my body and he didn't want it." Tears were coursing down her face unchecked. "I just wanted him, not his title or wealth, just _him_."

          Belle wrapped her arms around Emma and let her cry. "But you have him now, Emma. I know it wasn't the wedding you have always dreamed of, but he's yours now."

          Emma pulled away from her and shook her head furiously. "No, I don't. That's the really sad part, Belle. Until I have his heart and his love, I don't truly have him. He took me home to Rochefort to meet his mother and to see my new home and I behaved horribly."

          "You couldn't, Emma. You're —"

          "You weren't there, Belle," Emma insisted. "The first thing out of that woman's mouth —" She had to stop and clench her teeth together as she fought for control of her voice. "She didn't waste any time proclaiming him a bastard. So, I didn't waste any time telling her if I was to make Rochefort my home and raise my children there, she was going to have to find another place to live."

          "Jefferson went along with that?" Belle asked incredulously.

          "I don't know. He said he was going to find her accommodations in Bath, but that was before I left. He might've changed his mind."

          Belle dried Emma's tears and smiled sadly. "Why did you leave?"

          Emma flopped back against the pillows and sighed wearily. "I was angry," she said simply. "I told him he was bloody stupid to think I would care one way or the other that he was born on the wrong side of the blanket. I told him I couldn't stand it that he hadn’t trusted me."

          "What did he say?"

          "He told me he loved me. I told him the only reason he said it was to make me stay," Emma said in barely more than a whisper.

          "But he _does_ love you, Emma. He's always loved you," Belle insisted. "Jefferson's emotions have been bouncing all over this house just as much as yours have. I know because I've felt them. Are you really going to throw that away? Give up on all the happiness you can share?"

          Emma snorted. "Of course not, silly."

          "I beg your pardon?"

          "Belle, I need his trust just as much as his love. It's his turn to woo me. I'm done with chasing him, so to speak. If he wants me to come home, he can work for it."

          A slow smile spread across Belle's lips, lighting her entire face. "Oh, he's in so much trouble, isn't he?"

          "Of course."

 

*.*.*

 

          Robert groaned sleepily as Belle crawled back into the bed with him some time later. She nestled into his arms and pressed her face to his neck. "How's Emma?"

          "Much better after our talk."

          "Why is she here, may I ask?"

          Belle yawned and ran her hand across his stomach, tucking it under his back. "Oh, not to worry, darling. I'm sure Jefferson will be here soon enough to take you into his confidence."

          Robert cracked one eye open to peer down at his wife. "You're not going to tell me?"

          "And spoil the surprise? Not a chance."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Well, he's got a deep hole to dig himself out of now, doesn't he? Next chapter, he finally gets his affairs in order and goes to reclaim what's his. The question is … will Emma let him?


	11. Chapter 11

_Jefferson—_

 

_Why is your wife camped out in her old bedroom in my townhouse? Not that I mind, but shouldn't she be with you?_

 

_\--Robbie_

 

_Jefferson—_

 

_What is your delay in returning to London? My wife is giving me hell because you haven't presented yourself for dinner yet. Not to mention my mother! If Belle could travel, I'd take her back to Sheffield just so I could have some peace._

 

_\--Robbie_

 

_Jefferson—_

 

_I understand you are still trying to make arrangements for the dowager, but I would think mending this rift with your wife would take precedence. Edith is NOT going to burn the manor down if you leave before she's on her way. And even if she did, you have the money to rebuild._

 

_\--Robbie_

 

_ROCHEFORT—_

 

_St. James took her to Tattersall's to buy a horse. Tattersall's, man! You have to do something. Not to mention she's an abysmal rider. She's going to either cause a scandal or break her fool neck before you get here._

 

_\--Robbie_

 

_Jeff—_

 

_We're to meet with Lord Wendell in two days' time. If you don't present yourself immediately, I will send Travers and Dove to escort you. By the by, Killian has made a wager in Black's betting book and he's winning._

 

_\--Robbie_

 

          Jefferson crumpled up the last missive, cursing a blue streak of vile profanity as he poured some scotch into the tumbler never far from his hand. Every blasted day - sometimes twice a day - he received a missive from Robert telling him about some bedevilment for which his new wife was responsible.

          As if he didn't know what he had to look forward to. His estate manager had secured a cottage for Edith Madden in Bath. The woman was intent on stripping Rochefort down to the last bloody vase, yet he couldn't find it in himself to care. His beloved Emma should be here helping him deal with this mess. She would rather punish him, however. And it was indeed a punishment to be away from her.

          His bags were already packed to leave for London, and as soon as the carriage bearing his mother was safely on its way, he'd be setting off to reclaim his wife. He wanted nothing more than to have her back in his arms, his bed, and his life. It wasn't much of a life without her, he'd come to realize. He never should have let his mother convince him he was nothing but a worthless by-blow. Emma had been harping on him for months, telling him he  _was_  worth it, that he  _was_  deserving of happiness … of her.

          He stared down at the amber liquid in his glass before tossing it back. His breath slowly hissed out between his teeth as he rested his head against the back of his chair. His mind whirled with thoughts of Emma, her sweet scent, her smile, the way her eyes sparkled when she teased him as well as how they darkened to resemble rare emeralds when she gave in to her desire. She consumed him … and he had no idea how he was supposed to get her back.

          He rose unsteadily from his chair to watch Edith Madden climb into the coach, his hand clutching desperately at the drapes. He pinched himself, unable to believe his fondest wish was finally coming true. Seeing the conveyance set off down the long drive was akin to being given water after a stint in the desert. He was free of her at last. Free to start a new life without the shadow of her threats looming over him ready to snatch away his happiness. Now all he needed was Emma. Her name coursed through him with every beat of his heart and with each beat, hope soon followed.

          Woodward entered the study and came to stand before Jefferson's massive oak desk, sniffing disdainfully at the stench of alcohol permeating the room. "Milord, your carriage is waiting, and your bags have been secured. Will there be anything else before you depart?" The butler, having been with the family since Jefferson had been a child, raked the earl's form with his sharp gaze. "A bath, perhaps? Or a shave and a fresh change of clothes?"

          Jefferson rolled his eyes at the man, though he did concede the man had a point. "I take it you've already had Mr. Smith prepare such?"

          "Of course. It really wouldn't do for the countess to see you in such a state. Unless you want her to see the misery you've been wallowing in since she departed?"

          Jefferson cast him a blank look. "You overstep yourself, Woodward. Perhaps you're looking for an early retirement."

          The butler raised a brow. "And what would you do without me to see to your needs."

          "I'd probably have a much-needed respite," Jefferson snarked dolefully. The man wasn't just a servant, but more a beloved uncle. He'd never fire the man. Without him, his childhood would have been a lot worse. He couldn't count the number of times Woodward had intervened to save him from Edith's wrath.

          "I'll have Cameron wait then, milord," he said, turning to leave the earl to himself.

          "Woodward?"

          "Yes, milord."

          "Thank you." Jefferson watched him go, noting the pleased smile which lit his face. The man was right, however. There was no way Jefferson could go to Emma reeking of a distillery, and Robert would no doubt call him out for his shoddy appearance. No, best to get cleaned up first. Then he was going to get his wife back.

 

*.*.*

 

          "Emma, darling," Killian drawled quietly as he sat back in his chair, nursing a raging hangover. "He's not going to arrive any sooner by you pacing a path in the carpet. The tapping of your heels when you hit the hardwood is killing me."

          Belle shot him a warning look over the rim of her tea cup. "Killian, you're not helping."

          "Well, it's not like she's going to speak to him when he does finally carry his arse to London, so I don't see what the point is for all the pacing."

          Robert sipped at his tea, wrinkling his nose before adding another lump of sugar. "I thought surely when he found out you took his darling wife to Tattersall's he would present himself post haste."

          Emma dropped down onto the window seat, sighing heavily as she gazed out into the twilight. "He's not coming," she whispered, barely loud enough for anyone to hear. "If Killian taking me to personally buy a horse didn't rouse him from Rochefort, nothing will. He just doesn't want to see me."

          Every day he didn't show himself, was just another twist of the knife in her heart. More pain, more anguish, it was simply unavoidable. This whole time as he'd continued to tell her over and over that he didn't wish to marry her, it wasn't the falsehood she'd believed it to be. It was the truth. He really didn't want her.

          She should have ended it before she’d let her heart become involved. Having to meet with Malcolm Wendell first thing tomorrow morning filled her stomach with dread. Without her husband by her side to stand with her as a united front, what was the point? Certainly, she was protected from a marriage to the lech, but it seemed either way, she was without a husband.

          She had his name, his wealth, his status, but what was all that without the man she loved?

 

*.*.*

 

          Abigail eyed Robert and Belle over the rim of her tea cup as they all sat together in the parlor after breakfast the next morning. "Are you alright, m'dear?" she asked Belle. "You look a bit pale."

          "I'm fine, Mother," she answered with a tight smile. She leaned back into the steady press of her husband's talented fingers as they kneaded away the sharp pains in her back. "Just miserable as usual. I'm beginning to wonder if I'm ever going to have this baby."

          Abigail smiled as she set her cup back onto its saucer and reached for a biscuit. "Darling, these things take time. The babe will come in its own time."

          Emma poked her head into the parlor. "Is he here yet?" she asked, glowering at Robert. "You said he'd be here!"

          Robert bit down on the inside of his cheek as he pursed his lips. "Emma, dearie, he'll be here. I'm certain he was just delayed. Jefferson wouldn't abandon you in your hour of need."

          "He's done a splendid job of that so far, love," Belle mumbled beneath her breath. Her husband squeezed her hip, assuring her he'd heard, but otherwise made no comment. "Emma, he'll be here. You still have time."

          "Come, dearie," the duke sighed, rising from the sofa and crossing the room to her. "Let's go into the study and wait. Wendell will be here within the hour and I think the solitude of the study might help to calm you."

          "How is that supposed to help calm me?!" Emma ground out through clenched teeth. She was so angry with Jefferson she could spit fire. "This isn't going to work if Jefferson doesn't present himself."

          Robert led her down the hall to the study and closed the door behind them before ringing the bell pull. Mrs. Green entered a few moments later with a tea service, knowing the only time the duke called from his study was when he wanted tea.

          Emma sat stiffly on the sofa, thankful for the cheery blaze in the hearth. She needed something besides her simmering rage to keep her warm. She accepted the cup from her former guardian and offered him a doleful glance. "He's not coming. He didn't want me to begin with, and he'll simply leave you to handle this mess."

          "I thought you knew Jefferson better than that, Emma. He will not shirk his responsibilities," Robert insisted, settling in the large leather chair behind his desk.

          "That seems to be all I am to him now," she pouted, spooning a dollop of cream into her cup. "If he cared, he would have come to me before now. If he shows today, it will be because  _you_  asked it of him."

          She stared down into the milky brew in her cup and frowned, feeling the anger drain out of her limbs to be replaced with despair. She had known this would happen when Robert forced them to the altar. It didn't matter that he'd professed his love to her before she'd left Rochefort. How could she believe him when he hadn't bothered to so much as send her a note in the past week?

          She had once again become someone else's burden and it didn't sit well with her at all. Stubborn man! If he'd have just asked her to marry him when they were enjoying their courtship - if you could even call it that - she would have proven to him she could make him happy. Now she wondered if she had been deluding herself.

          Henderson entered the study after a brief knock, causing her heart to stutter painfully in her chest. "Your Grace, Lord Malcolm Wendell and his solicitor, a Mr. Rousseau, are here to see you. Shall I announce them?"

          Robert glanced over at Emma and sighed wearily, sinking back into his chair with an inward groan. Jefferson was going to have some explaining to do when he arrived. It looked as if he were going to have to send Travers and Dove for him after all. "Yes, Henderson, thank you. Show them in."

          Emma forced a neutral expression to her face as she casually sipped at her tea, when really, she was screaming inside. Malcolm preceded his solicitor into the room and made a beeline straight for her. His light brown hair was slicked back away from his brow and it looked as if he'd worn his finest to make a good impression, the knot of his cravat tied in an intricate design of the latest fashion and his boots polished to a high shine. She had to fight the urge to wrinkle her nose in distaste.

          "Lady Morrison, it's such a delight to see you," Wendell said in greeting, taking her hand and bowing low.

"Lord Wendell," she acknowledged, wiping her hand on her skirt when it was finally released from his damp grasp. She turned back to her tea, giving no outward appearance of just how repulsed she was by the oily nobleman.

          Robert rolled his eyes as he stroked his fingers over his stubbled chin, eyeing the baron with a healthy dose of disgust. "Do sit down, Wendell and stop slobbering all over Lady Emma," he snarked, refusing to even rise and greet the man. If anyone in the world deserved the  _cut direct_ , it was Malcolm Wendell.

          He took a seat in front of the duke's desk and sat back, not even offered the courtesy of tea and refreshments from either of the room's occupants. "Thank you for agreeing to see me today, Your Grace," Malcolm began, choosing his words carefully, well aware of the malice Robert Gold harbored against him.

"Yes, well," he murmured, waving a dismissive hand, "some matters cannot be avoided forever. What is it you want, Malcolm?"

          Wendell's face fell. "Didn't you receive a copy of the betrothal contract I sent around to your solicitor?" he asked, puzzled as to why the duke was toying with him. "It's all in order, signed by her father and myself several days before his untimely death."

          "It amazes me it's taken you this long to step forward with your claim," Robert said, his voice low and ominous. It was the same tone he used which normally had men more powerful and influential than himself cowering in fear.

          Wendell pulled surreptitiously at his cravat, as if it were suddenly three sizes too small. "I simply wanted to give Lady Emma time to mourn in peace. It's been eight months and since you ended her mourning period ahead of schedule, I don't think I should have to wait any longer to begin preparations for our wedding."

          The duke laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners with the mirthless sound. "Yes, indeed. However, I don't see the preparations getting underway any time soon."

          "I don't see any reason to delay, Your Grace," Malcolm argued.

          Mr. Rousseau removed several documents from his leather case and laid them on the desk before the duke for his perusal. "This is the original contract. You can see Lord Morrison's signature is genuine. You've dealt with him enough in the past to see that for yourself. The contract outlines the details of her dowry and —"

          Robert's grin was feral and filled with more than a little smug satisfaction. "The contract is moot, gentlemen." He speared Wendell with his dark eyes, making the man fidget and shift uncomfortably. "You see, I hardly think her husband would appreciate it if she ran off to be with you, Malcolm."

 

*.*.*

 

          Jefferson ran a hand through his hair as he handed over his coat and gloves to the butler. He was late and he knew there would be hell to pay once everything was said and done. "Where is he? Robbie?"

          "In the study, milord," Henderson answered, stowing the earl's possessions away in the hall closet.

          "Jefferson!" Abigail fairly growled as she came out of the parlor. "You've got some explaining to do, boy."

          He dropped a kiss to her cheek and grimaced. "I know, Abby, and I promise I'll let you box my ears later, hm? Now where are Robbie and Emma?"

          "They're awaiting you in the study," Belle hissed urgently as she joined them in the hall. She accepted a kiss to her cheek and shooed him off. "And Jefferson, be gentle with Emma, please?"

          He nodded and set off down the hall. He didn't even bother to knock, throwing the door open in time to hear Robert break the news to the lech seated before his desk. Emma looked up at him over the rim of her tea cup, her eyes flashing dangerously. For all outward appearances, she looked calm and composed. It was because he knew her so well that he was able to notice the tight line of her lips, the white knuckles gripping her saucer and the simmering ire in her emerald eyes which gave away the lie. She was furious, frightened and ready to bolt. Dangerous combination, that. He wouldn't be surprised if she threw her shoes at him again.

          "Emma, sweetheart," he purred silkily, hurrying to her side and pulling her up from the sofa and into his embrace. He was thankful she'd managed to set her cup down on the table instead of dumping it down the front of his trousers. "I'm so sorry I'm late. The carriage threw a wheel and the repairs caused my delay." His lips dipped low to her ear as he whispered.  _"You can beat me bloody later, rabbit, just play along for now, hm?"_

          Emma arched a brow at him and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. "I was  _worried_ , Jefferson. You should have sent your man ahead with  _news,"_  she ground out through clenched teeth.

          Wendell's mouth gaped in shock. He snapped it closed, his face mottling with rage as he swung his gaze to a grinning Robert. "What is the meaning of this?! She is  _my_  betrothed!"

          Jefferson flashed the man a grin. "No … she's  _my_ wife. You didn't hear? I thought it would be common knowledge by now that Emma and I eloped to Gretna Green last week." His arm slipped around his wife's waist and he had to fight valiantly to keep from wincing in pain as her pointed little heel dug into his instep. "Sweetheart, I thought surely you would have sent word around."

          "I suppose I've been busy," she answered with a smile.

          Jefferson blinked. Surely, she hadn't batted her long lashes at him. "Perhaps the excitement distracted you?"

          "Something like that."

          "So, you see, Malcolm, there will be no wedding," Robert intoned, clearly enjoying the show. He should have invited Belle to their little meeting. She would have rather enjoyed the little scene.

          Jefferson removed his own document - their marriage license - from the inside pocket of his coat and tossed it carelessly on the desk. "All above board and legal, Wendell. Of course, Robert didn't inform me of the betrothal contract Lord Morrison had made with you until after we'd returned to London. Lady Emma couldn't very well honor a contract of which she had no previous knowledge."

          "You are her guardian, Sheffield! It fell to you to discourage her from such folly," the man blustered in outrage.

          Robert shrugged. "They'd already left for Northumberland, to inspect the property I have there, shortly before I was contacted by my solicitor with the details of your arrangement with Morrison. Of course, I followed to deliver the news personally, but by the time I'd arrived at my estate, the deed had already been done. Wedded, bedded and pleased as punch, I might add." He leaned forward, his elbows pressing into the polished wood of his desk as he steepled his fingers beneath his chin. "Who am I to thwart true love?"

          Malcolm leaned his palms on the desk, his face inches from the duke's. "I think you planned the whole thing, Gold. It's definitely not above your power … or even a little petty revenge on your part."

          Robert eyes darkened with a dangerous glint as he rose from his desk. "And now that our business here is concluded, I'm going to ask you  _nicely_  to leave my home. Get. Out."

          "That's asking nicely?" Emma snickered under her breath, fighting to keep the hysterical giggle from bubbling forth from her throat.

          Jefferson stepped up behind him, the two noblemen crowding the man. Malcolm backed a step or two towards the door, Mr. Rousseau already having scurried through the portal like the rat he was. "Just a word of warning, Wendell," Jefferson said, all hint of amiability vanishing from his boyish features. "Though why you should heed me now when you've never done so before. If I find out you've even attended the same party as my wife; if I hear you've tried to speak to her just to discuss the bloody weather …" he stepped closer, his teeth clenched as his lips drew back over his teeth in a snarl. "… I  _will_  kill you."

          Wendell straightened his jacket and glared at the earl before his eyes raked over Emma's slim form, regret evident in his eyes. "You can try, Madden. Yet, as I recall, it didn't work out so well for you last time."

          Jefferson's icy gray eyes narrowed. "Try me, Wendell. Just make sure your affairs are in order before you do. I won't fail again."

          The baron spun on his heel, his angry stride carrying him from the room. Robert's delighted chuckle followed after him. "Well, now that all this unpleasantness has been settled …" he let his voice trail off as he gave them both a pointed look. "I'll just leave the two of you alone."

          Jefferson turned to face his wife, a sigh of relief gusting past his lips. He wasn't expecting her fist to connect painfully with his nose before he could even speak. His hand flew up to cover the oozing joint, blood seeping between his fingers. "Holy hell, woman!" he bellowed, trying to see her through the tears smarting in his eyes. "What was that for?"

          "If you have to ask, you've clearly misplaced your watch!" she hissed, moving back to sit on the sofa and pouring herself a fresh cup of tea. "Would you care for a cup?" she asked sweetly.

          "Thanks, I'll pass," he murmured dryly as he flopped back on the sofa and pressed his handkerchief to his nose. He watched her out of the corner of his eye as she concentrated on fixing her own cup. He wondered what she would do if he took it from her. Never had he seen anyone with the talent for hiding her true emotions like his precious wife. Not even Regina could have had that much composure, he reasoned. It must've been a defensive habit Emma had formed when forced to deal with her manipulative mother. He cleared his throat when she remained stoically silent. "I really did have problems with the carriage on the way to London this morning, rabbit," he said quietly, inching closer to her on the wide cushion.

          "There must be an entire trail of broken and mangled wheels all along the road to London considering how long it took you to get here," she retorted, taking another sip. She still refused to look at him, afraid if she did her resolve would crumble to ash at his feet. She'd longed for nothing more than for him to come to her, and now that he was here, she didn't know what to do.

          It had been more than a little satisfying to punch him in the face for what he'd put her through, but now she only wanted to curl up in his side and have him hold her and didn't know how to ask. She wouldn't even if she could. He needed to learn she wouldn't let him continue to cut himself off from her. He wasn't the only one who could teach someone a lesson.

          "You really thought I would fail to come for you, didn't you?" he asked, taking her hand in his and bringing it to his lips. "Nice to know you have so much confidence in me."

          "Yes, because you've proven yourself to be so open, honest and trustworthy of late," she snickered, her teeth grinding so hard against one another they squeaked.

          He pressed a kiss to her palm and twined his fingers with hers, smiling smugly when she had to set her cup down on the tray, unable to maneuver the cup and saucer with only one hand. "I was doing what you'd asked, little wife," he murmured, stroking his thumb over hers in a soft caress.

          "Were you?" she asked, shifting uncomfortably as her free hand fidgeted with her skirts.

          "I was seeing to it that my  _mother_  was on her way to her new home before I came for you. I wanted to be assured the house would still be standing when I brought you home. She was in a mighty rage as her things were packed up for her."

          "I may have been a bit rash, Jefferson. I didn't mean to make you choose between us." She finally turned to him, her eyes filled with regret. "It's just — I just don't understand how she could blame you or take her bitterness out on you. It's wasn't your fault."

          There was that spark which had caused him to fall so deeply in love with her. He was a fool to have thought the circumstances of his birth would have made a difference to her. "She had to blame someone after my father died and he wasn't there any longer for her to make him miserable. I was a convenience, nothing more."

          "Why did you keep this from me?" she asked, giving his fingers a little squeeze. "You could have trusted I loved you enough to understand. I don't care, Jefferson, that you aren't legitimate. And really, I don't think your mother would have told anyone —"

          "She did before," he whispered, his gaze shifting to their joined hands. "I loved a girl in our county, one of the vicar's daughters. I wanted a betrothal contract to be forged between us. I was just out of Eton and ready to go on my grand tour with Robbie. I asked her to marry me …Violet was her name … and she agreed. We'd be married as soon as I returned from my tour. Even her father was excited for the match."

          Emma's heart plummeted somewhere in the region of her feet. She'd known there had to be something more than his mother's threats. "What happened?" she asked, taking the handkerchief away from his nose now that it had stopped bleeding. She tossed it onto the coffee table and stroked his cheek, turning his head so he could meet her sympathetic gaze.

          "I brought her home for dinner to meet my mother and Edith told her everything before the first course could even be served," he huffed a bitter laugh, his voice flat and emotionless, hiding the pain from years past. "She broke it off with me and went home to tell her father the engagement was off. She never told a soul, not even her family, why she'd done it. She kept my secret."

          "Then she didn't truly love you, Jefferson. If she had, it wouldn't have mattered to her. Those who truly care about you don't care one whit for what side of the blanket you were born on."

          He closed the distance between them and rested his head upon her shoulder, content to simply be close to her. He'd missed her so much. "I'm so sorry I didn't trust you, Em. Do you … um … do you think perhaps we could start over? Let me do it right this time?"

          Emma felt tears prick smartly behind her eyes and her lower lip trembled as she stared into his familiar gray eyes so full of hope. "I don't know if we can, Jeff."

          He brushed an errant curl behind her ear. "We can. You're my wife, Emma. I know I fought it, but that doesn't mean I didn't want you with every fiber of my being." He turned to her and cradled her face in his warm palms. "I was trying to protect you, Em." He pressed his lips to hers, a slow brush of his warm mouth, chaste and pure and full of promise. There was none of the violent passion they usually shared in the gesture.

          She wondered if she should be worried, but she didn't push him away. Her gaze flitted away from his as she fought against the rapid beating of her heart. She couldn't let him cajole her into giving him any more of her heart than he already possessed. It hurt too much. "You rejected me so many times, Jefferson. I just don't know if we can —"

          "Whatever you want, Emma. I'll prove to you how much I love you … how much I've always  _loved_  you."

          She pressed her lips together in a thin line as she rose to her feet and looked down on him. "You hurt me. It may just be too late for us, Jefferson. We reap what we sow and I'm afraid there's too many bitter fruits in the harvest."

          Jefferson sighed as she strode from the room, her dignity gathered about her like a cloak. He'd poured his heart out to her and still she’d denied him. It was nothing less than he deserved, but he'd be damned if he would give up now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I really hope you've enjoyed this chapter. Emma finally knows his real motivation for keeping things from her. Let's just hope they can patch things up. Next chapter … (I'm hoping anyway) … Belle receives a visitor and Jefferson reaches out to Emma to begin to repair their relationship.


	12. Chapter 12

          "Would you like to talk about it, Jeff?"

          Jefferson cracked an eye open and grimaced as he saw Belle standing there in the doorway of the study. He groaned as she waddled into the room and settled herself on the sofa beside him. "Are you giving me a choice, or were you just being polite?"

          Belle rubbed a soothing hand over her belly and smirked at him. "Jefferson, you're my friend and I love you, but you're mucking this up in the extreme."

          He sighed as his head dropped back against the cushion. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, sweetheart," he drawled, wincing as he exhaled through his sore nose. "I've lost her."

          Belle rolled her eyes and whacked him on the shoulder. "Jefferson Madden, don't you even think of giving up. All she wants is you. I'm sick and tired of the emotions you two have bouncing all over my house!" She glared at him as he sat up straighter and turned his surprised grey eyes on her. "First it was lust - not that I minded considering - well nevermind that, but now Emma is miserable, you're miserable and the stress from your combined misery is not good for the baby. You have to fix this!"

          "And how the hell am I supposed to do that?"

          Belle pursed her lips as she thought of her own courtship and her persistent duke. One would think he could have taken a page out of Robert's book. "Let's see. There are always the normal gifts of courtship you could shower upon her … flowers, chocolates …" she ticked off on her fingers, "… promises you don't intend to keep. Though you'd better if you know what's good for you. The least you could do is buy her a proper wedding ring!"

          "I did," he grinned, reaching into the breast pocket of his frock coat and withdrawing a little velvet box. He flipped the lid open to reveal a wide filigree band in an ivy design inlaid with tiny diamonds. "I know Emma doesn't like large pieces, nothing ostentatious, and I thought this would be perfect. It belonged to my great grandmother."

          "Oh, Jefferson, it's beautiful … and so perfect for Emma. She's going to love it." She whacked him on the shoulder again. "Why didn't you give it to her?!"

          "She ran off before I got the chance," he growled, rubbing his shoulder where she'd now hit him twice. "And stop hitting me, woman!"

          "Rochefort! Why are you yelling at my wife?" Robert snarled as he entered the room.

          "Because she's abusing my person," he explained, realizing how upset his friend was. It was the only time he used Jefferson's title as a form of address.

          The heat of anger fled his eyes as he noticed the amusement on his wife's face. He settled on the arm of the sofa next to Belle and dropped a soft kiss to her brow. "Did you also tell him what a complete ass he's been in the handling of his own wife?" he asked, grinning down at her.

          "Yes, as a matter of fact, I did. And he's promised to fix it." She turned back to Jefferson as she had Robert help her up from the sofa. "Jeff, I will see you at dinner. Think about what I've said, please."

          Jefferson watched them go and groaned. How was he ever to get through dinner with the entire family with his wife glaring daggers at him across the table? Maybe he could plead sour stomach. No, Abigail would take that as a personal insult. He could always take dinner at the club. No, Robbie would send St. James to fetch him. Well hell!

 

*.*.*

 

          It was Emma's turn to groan when she stepped out of her bedroom only to run into the one person she didn't want to see at the moment. She was still upset with what he'd told her of his past and furious it was working so well to soften her heart towards him. "Jefferson," she breathed, backing into the door she'd just closed behind her.

          He abandoned his relaxed pose against the wall and approached her, a lazy smile curling his lips.  _Gods! Why does he have to be so bloody handsome_ , she fumed silently, holding his gaze as he stopped mere inches before her. She sucked in a sharp breath as his eyes dipped to the low décolletage of her gown, the emerald green matching her eyes perfectly. Instead of the order to return to her room and change immediately, he raised one lone finger and traced the curve of her breasts above the Venetian lace.

          "Is this what you've been spending my money on, rabbit?" he drawled, his eyes darkening with desire as they raised to meet hers. Before she could find a suitable scathing reply, he took her hand and brought it to his lips, brushing a lingering kiss to her knuckles. "Beautiful," he purred silkily. "Absolutely beautiful."

          Her lips parted in surprise as she searched his features, wondering if he were talking about the dress … or  _her._ "Thank you," was all she could think to say. She cursed herself for the breathy tone of her voice, but she couldn't seem to help herself. She'd easily fallen under his spell and it took every ounce of her restraint to stop herself from leaning into him and searching out his lips with hers.

          He tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow and led her down the stairs, seemingly relaxed. More relaxed than she'd ever seen him. Whatever he was conspiring in that debauched head of his, he could just forget it!

          Belle smiled where she stood in the door of the dining room next to Robert. "Emma, darling, you look wonderful."

          "Thank you, Belle. I —"

          Jefferson interrupted her. "Belle, give us just a moment, please. We'll be along shortly."

          Emma's stomach churned with dread as she watched her cousin disappear into the dining room with her husband. She really didn't trust herself to be alone with Jefferson at that moment. She turned to him, opening her mouth to upbraid him for the delay and immediately snapped it shut, her hand rising to cover her heart. The box he held in his palm commanded all her attention, or rather the elegant ring nestled within.

          "For me?" she asked softly, blinking rapidly to stop the tears from falling.

          "Emma, please just listen to what I have to say, alright?" He breathed a sigh of relief when she nodded her acquiescence. "I've been an —"

          "There you are, old boy!" Killian boomed as he bounded down the stairs. "I'd heard you'd finally arrived. A relief, I must say." He stepped between Jefferson and Emma, taking her hand and tucking it into his elbow. "Darling, you look ravishing. May I escort you into dinner?" With a wink, he steered her towards the dining room, leaving a glowering earl sputtering behind them.

          "Killian, you rat!" she hissed as he led her to the long table and seated her beside him, leaving Jefferson to sit next to the dowager. "He's going to be furious with you."

          He placed his napkin in his lap and cast her a cheeky grin. "You looked as though you were about to devour him on the spot, love. Didn't you just tell me yesterday you weren't going to make things easy for him?"

          Emma winced. "Yes. I suppose I did."

          Abigail chuckled behind her hand as she raised a brow at the little countess. "Behave, you rogue," she admonished the former pirate. "There will be no bloodshed at the dinner table, thank you."

          "Aye, m'lady," he said with a graceful nod of his dark head.

          Jefferson stood there for a full minute, his face flaming with rage as he counted to ten, then twenty, then … he lost count at fifty and gnashed his teeth, marching towards the dining room. His eyes narrowed on Killian as he took his place at the table next to Abigail. The ring box in his pocket felt like a lead weight and he plastered a large fake smile on his handsome face to hide the simmering anger boiling away his insides. He'd get that bloody ring on her finger if it took all night. And by the looks of it, that was a distinct possibility.

          He touched little of his food - unusual for the earl as his appetites nearly always bordered on voracious – concentrating more on the fortified wine being served rather than anything substantial being offered. It wouldn't have set well on his stomach to try to force food upon it while he had to endure the round of flirtatious banter between Killian and Emma. She looked more uncomfortable than anything, but it brought him no succor from his restlessness. He was fighting down the urge to crawl across the table and beat the man bloody.

          Again, he ignored the food set before him as the third course appeared. The dowager continued to cast worried glances at Robert, hoping he'd keep the conversation amiable between the two earls, but she knew it was unlikely he'd intervene. Her son had a rather warped sense of humor and thrived on discord simply because he found it entertaining.

          Belle dipped her spoon into her soup and took a bite, the leeks and carrots in a rich broth unable to distract her from the swirling emotions being bandied about. She was tempted to fake a pain just to escape the dining room and the tension so thick it was nearly suffocating.

          Emma shifted in her seat, almost afraid to look across the table at her husband as he sat back in his chair and steadily made his way through an entire bottle of wine, his heated gaze making the fine hairs on her nape stand at attention. Killian seemed to be the only one in the room completely at ease. He kept up a lively conversation with Robert and the dowager about some of his sea voyages which she usually found entertaining.

          However, this evening, she just wished he would stop talking. She could kick him for interrupting Jefferson and whatever it was he'd wanted to say earlier out in the hall. If her husband was finally willing to open up to her, she wanted to hear it regardless of her resolve to make things difficult for him.

          Belle pulled Emma aside as dinner finally came to an end and they adjourned to the drawing room. Abigail kissed them both on the cheek and claimed fatigue as she left them to retire to her rooms. "If Killian doesn't stop antagonizing Jefferson, I make have Robbie keep him here when I go into labor and send him every twinge of pain I endure," Belle hissed in annoyance as a maid brought in a tea tray.

          Emma accepted a glass of sherry from a footman and lowered her eyes as she bit her lip to stifle the giggle which burned at the back of her throat. "He's only trying to help. Besides, if you did that, you'd have to explain your gift to yet another person."

          "Pfft," she scoffed, dropping a cube of sugar and a slice of lemon into her cup. "I wouldn't do it," she said, wrinkling her nose with a teasing smile, "but it's a nice fantasy, hm?"

          Emma lowered her lashes, surreptitiously watching Jefferson across the room. Robert had drawn him into a discussion about an import business he thought he'd be collecting when a Mister Ravenwood didn't come up with what he owed at the end of the month. Her husband looked relaxed for all intents and purposes, but she could still see the tension in the firm press of his lips and the small twitch in the corner of his left eye as the evening wore on.

          Killian, seeing he could cause no more mischief, announced his plans to go to the club and bid them all good night. Emma and Belle breathed a collective sigh of relief. The duchess set her cup back on the tray and shifted uncomfortably, trying to find a position to ease the unwavering pain in her back.

          "Are you alright?" Emma asked, laying a comforting hand on her cousin's shoulder.

          "Of course … just miserable," Belle laughed. She smiled gently, seeing how weary Emma was. "Don't worry about me, Em. Why don't you go on up to bed? I know you haven't been sleeping well since you've returned to London."

          "I think I will," Emma sighed. It looked as though Jefferson would be deep in conversation with Robert for hours yet and there would be no talking to him tonight. She leaned over and hugged her cousin. "Let me know if you need me, ok?"

          "I'll be fine," Belle assured her. She watched Jefferson as his gaze followed his wife out of the room, his attention thoroughly diverted away from his talk with the duke and she smiled in satisfaction.

          "Jeff, did you hear what I said?" Robert asked, scowling at his friend's inattention. "Jefferson!"

          "What? Of course, I did," he murmured, trying to feign interest in Robert's prospected business venture.

          "You haven't heard a word I've said since Emma left the room."

          "Mhmm. I totally agree, but you might want to put that brigantine you purchased several years ago to good use —"

          "Oh, just go after her already," Robert snarked in exasperation. "It's clear I won't be able to have a serious conversation with you until you've sorted things out with your wife."

          Jefferson's cheeks colored slightly as he glanced from the doorway back to his friend. "What? I'm offering my advice."

          "Yes, I'll give you that. You just happened to be offering advice on the previous subject matter. I was asking your opinion on baby names, you sot!"

          "Oh."

          Belle burst out into a round of giggles as she scooted to the edge of the sofa and attempted to stand on her own. "You two are ridiculous, and on that note, I'm going to bed. Goodnight, Jefferson," she said sweetly as her eyes met her husband's warm gaze. She knew he'd join her before she reached the stairs.

          "I'm sorry, Robbie. I'm a bit distracted," Jefferson apologized, tossing back the scotch in his glass.

          "Distracted doesn't begin to describe it. Just talk to her, be honest with her … tell her what's in your heart." Robert rose from his chair and strode purposefully to the door, not wishing Belle to attempt to climb the stairs by herself. "In other words … beg like your very life depended on it."

          Jefferson glowered at him as he ducked out of the door. Perhaps a little begging wouldn't be amiss.

 

*.*.*

 

          Emma set her hairbrush down on the vanity and rotated her neck until the muscles somewhat loosened as it gave a faint pop. It seemed nothing she did would relieve the tension coiling through her body. Now that she knew Jefferson was residing under Robert's roof once more, it was increasing by leaps and bounds. What was he doing? Had he gone to the club for the evening or was he still in the drawing room discussing business?

          She cursed inwardly. It shouldn't matter so much to her where he was. She stared at her reflection in the mirror and perused the frown marring her smooth brow. She never used to frown before Jefferson. Granted she had hidden her feelings behind a mask of cool civility. There was no sense in tipping her mother off as to her real feelings or the day to day misery in which she wallowed.

          Her shoulders drooped dejectedly as she rose from the vanity and removed her robe. The door opened with a soft snick and she called out to her maid. "I won't need anything else tonight, thank you. I think I'm just going to go to sleep, Bridgette."

          "Good," a warm male voice whispered softly near her ear as her husband's arms slipped about her waist. "I'm rather tired myself."

          "Jefferson! Wh-What are you doing in here?" Emma breathed, groaning over the breathy tone of her voice. She couldn't seem to help it, however, as heat flooded her body and pooled low in her belly, his husky tone sending a delicious thrill tingling along her skin.

          He didn't answer right away, instead scooping her up in his arms and carrying her down the hall to the other side of the townhouse where his room was located. Her eyes were wide with alarm as she threw an arm about his shoulders, clinging to him to keep herself from falling. She doubted he would purposefully drop her, but there was always a chance and she hated heights of any kind.

          "Where are you taking me?" she asked needlessly. She knew exactly where he was taking her, and she wasn't the least bit happy about it.

          He bore her into his room, and she looked around, always having been curious as to what his room looked like. It was decorated in dark cherry wood, the silk hangings and duvet on the bed done in rich earth tones, several shades of green and brown. Dresser, hope chest at the foot of the bed, wardrobe, nightstand on either side of the bed, a rich Aubusson rug covering the hardwood floor and a rather comfortable looking window seat, furnishings similar to her own room, but his was much larger. She took it all in sparingly as her gaze snapped back to him.

          He was relaxed – no doubt from the liquor he'd consumed that evening – as he deposited her gently on the bed and returned to the door to lock it and remove the key. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously as he strode casually over to the window, threw back the sash and tossed the key out.

          Emma gaped at him. "What the hell, Jefferson!?" she asked, rather panicked at the prospect of spending the night in his room. There was no possibility of retrieving the key without ringing for a maid. "You can't keep me here. Don't think I'm too afraid to use the window."

          "Relax, rabbit. I don't think you want to be found hanging from the trellis flashing your knickers at the neighbors. Whatever would they think?"

          Emma gnashed her teeth and settled back against the pillows as she glared at him.

          "A wife's place is at her husband's side, is it not?" he asked, his long fingers pulling at the cravat tied about his throat until it came undone in his hands. "That's what you wanted, wasn't it, Em?" he purred silkily, his eyes heavily lidded as he moved to sit beside her on the edge of the mattress. "I simply want to make certain you remain with me without any … interruptions."

          "Jeff —"

          His finger came up to cover her soft lips. "Oh, no, little rabbit. It's my turn to talk." Emma sucked in a sharp breath as his finger traced the contours of her lips, his grey eyes so warm she felt she could lose herself within their depths. He leaned in, nearly touching, his lips mere inches from her own. All it would take was for her to meet him halfway. His nose brushed lightly against hers and he smiled. "I've missed you so much, Em."

          Her lips parted on a sigh and her eyes closed, moving closer … and he quickly rose from the bed. Her fingers clenched against the duvet as she stared at him in bewilderment. He gave her his back as he removed his frock coat, his cufflinks, and unbuttoned his shirt, tossing his garments haphazardly over the back of a chair for his valet to see to in the morning. Her mouth went dry as he revealed more and more of his tantalizing flesh to her hungry gaze. He disappeared into the small dressing room adjoined to his chamber, returning a few moments later clad only in a pair of white cotton sleeping pants.

          She slipped beneath the duvet and clutched it tightly in her hand as he moved towards the bed, once again settling at her side, facing her. She couldn't stop her eyes from traveling leisurely over the broad expanse of his smooth chest, her fingers itching to touch. He was hers. Why couldn't she just reach out and run her fingers over his skin? She bit her lip in a perfect imitation of her cousin's habit, trying to quell the desire which made her flesh hum and throb with need.

          Jefferson caught the hand tightly grasping the duvet, and brought it to his lips, brushing a kiss to her palm. "My precious little wife," he uttered softly, holding her unwavering gaze. He flipped open the lid on the ring box he held in his left hand and presented it to her once more, thankful there would be no one to barge in on them here. "I thought it time you had a proper ring."

          Emma brushed a finger gingerly over the delicate ring, feeling her heart clench. Slowly she closed the lid, her emerald orbs filled with pain as they rose to meet his bewildered gaze. "I can't take it … yet. Jeff, I need to  _feel_  like your wife first. Do you understand?" she asked, setting the ring box on the night table next to the bed and reaching out to cup his cheek, hoping to somehow make him understand she wasn't outright rejecting him.

          He leaned into her hand, reaching up to cover hers, holding it against his stubbled cheek as he closed his eyes and simply savored her cool touch. "I do. I know I hurt you, Em, and you will never know how much I regret doing so." He sighed and urged her to scoot over, climbing under the blankets and thick duvet with her.

          She scooted clear across the bed, but his hand snaked out to catch her wrist and haul her back to lay beside him. She was puzzled when he laid his head on his own pillow and turned on his side to face her, holding both of her hands loosely between them. The candlelight cast shadows over his face as the ghost of a smile touched his lips. She wanted him so badly, but she couldn't allow herself to give in. She'd worked so diligently to win him … now it was his turn to do the same.

          He brought her hand to his lips, kissing each of her fingertips. "I used to think you were a flighty little girl, concerned with nothing more than fashion and gossip," he whispered, brushing one golden curl behind her ear as his eyes caressed her face. "Then you showed me how sweet and honest you could be. You let me see how vulnerable you were. That night when I first rescued you from Malcolm … when you'd been reduced to hiding under Robbie's desk … I think that was the night I fell in love with you."

          She squeezed his hand, holding on as if it were a lifeline to save her from drowning. "You had a funny way of showing it," she whispered, startled by his confession. "I didn't even think you liked me then."

          "You were so incredibly beautiful, your lovely eyes so filled with fear and pain. All I wanted in the wide world was to gather you in my arms and never let you go. Instead I kept my distance. I hurt you over and over and yet you never gave up on me," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion, his eyes glistening with unshed tears he refused to let fall. "I was such a fool not to trust you."

          "Jefferson —"

          His finger traced over her lips once more, but he made no move to kiss her other than his lips pressing softly to her brow. "I love you, Emma. I won't make the mistake again of shutting you out." He smiled sadly. "Good night, little wife."

          Emma stared at him incredulously as he turned over onto his other side, giving her his back. Her mind whirled in the realm of  _what the hell just happened?_  True, she hadn't wanted to be the one to give in to any advances her husband may have wanted to make, but that didn't mean she would have really had the will power to reject him in that way. She pursed her lips and frowned at his broad back. What was wrong with him? He'd been dying to have her in this very bed since she'd first known him and now, he was … giving her exactly what she wanted, what she'd asked for. He was finally offering his heart instead of his body, something he'd apparently given up on years ago.

          She yawned widely and shivered, the chill in the room due to the unlit hearth, seeping under the covers. Exhaustion was finally catching up with her. Her hand crept forward, smoothing over his smooth flesh from shoulder to hip and she inched her body closer to spoon against him. She wrapped her arm about his waist, her hand splaying over the taut plane of his belly, the muscles retracting delightfully beneath her touch. Her lips ghosted across his nape and he shivered as she sighed in contentment and closed her eyes. "Goodnight, my love."

          Jefferson smiled and closed his eyes, hope springing to life in his chest.

 

*.*.*

 

          Belle smacked her husband's hand away as he proceeded to rub little teasing circles over her belly, trying to get the baby to kick against his fingertips. "Stop that! I would love to be able to sleep tonight without your child trying to shatter what's left of my ribs, thank you."

          Robert chuckled softly, his breath teasing the curling tendrils along her nape. "I'm sorry, love," he murmured as his hand rose to her shoulder to gently knead some of the tension from her stiff muscles. "It won't be much longer before our son is ready to meet us."

          She was silent a moment, another pain ripping through her back. "Robbie, it hurts. Do we have an extra pillow you can wedge back there?" she moaned. She breathed a sigh of relief as the baby shifted one way and she the other and she was able to draw in a full lungful of breath. The mild comfort she found allowed her to focus on something other than the impending birth of their child.

          "What are you thinking, love," he asked, spooning behind her as best as he could with the pillow in the way.

          "I'm worried about Emma and Jefferson. Killian needs to stop antagonizing him. Talk to him, Robbie."

          He grumbled against her nape, nestling into her hair. "You're just sore at him because he won the last bet."

          "He cheated somehow," she pouted.

          "No, he didn't. You thought Jefferson would miss the meeting with Wendell and he was certain he wouldn't. He won fair and square," Robert protested with a yawn.

          "He had the advantage. He knows Jefferson better than I do."

          He chuckled, which earned him a light slap on the arm. "Perhaps you'll win the next one. I think the odds are in your favor as to how long it will take Jefferson to win back the affections of his wife. You have inside knowledge into the workings of your cousin's emotions."

          Belle cast him a sly smile over her shoulder and reached over to blow out the candle on the bedside table. "Hmm. Perhaps."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hope you enjoyed this chapter. Belle really needed to offer him some much-needed advice. Hopefully, he will heed it :D. Don't be too hard on Emma for not accepting his ring. She will, but she is hurt and angry and refuses to give in until he pulls his head out of his ass and shows her how sorry he is. He's finally taken a step in the right direction and she's softening towards him, but he still has a ways to go. Next chapter: The baby's here! Yay! And Belle's labor will be fraught with … well … we all know how much trouble she's been having with her gift.


	13. Chapter 13

          Emma smiled, a soft sigh escaping her parted lips. She didn't want to wake. She was warm and comfortable and wanted only to remain in her own little dream world where she was safe and loved. A soft caress over her lips, however, had her eyes fluttering open in bewilderment. Her confusion was banished as she watched her husband brush the rose bloom over her nose before trailing it over her mouth once more. "Jefferson …"

          He was thankful the dowager kept an abundance of the flowers in her solarium year round. "Good morning, little rabbit," he said softly, leaning over to press a chaste kiss to the corner of her mouth. "Did you sleep well?"

          "I did," she murmured, yawning widely as she reached for him where he sat beside her on the edge of the bed. She cradled his face in her hands, her thumbs caressing his cheekbones as her warm gaze met his. "And you?"

          His lids drooped in pleasure as he leaned into her touch, his lips pressing into her cool palm. "Very well, my darling," he assured her. He took her hands in his and held them gently on his lap for a moment, simply savoring a quiet moment with his wife – one where she wasn't either screeching angrily or trying to seduce him – before rising to fetch the breakfast tray he'd prepared.

          Emma sat up, her brows disappearing near her hairline as she took in the covered dishes on the tray. "You made breakfast?" she asked in surprise, casting him a doubtful glance.

          "'Course not. I'm an abysmal failure in the kitchen." He set the tray over her lap after she'd sat up and leaned back against the headboard. "However, I am quite adept at putting a tray together. Mrs. Green made your favorite," he teased, lifting the cover off one of the smaller dishes.

          "Is that —"

          "Chocolate croissants with a sugary glaze," he smiled, relishing her little squeak of delight as she reached for the pastry. He set about pouring her a cup of the warm chocolate from the china pot, remembering to add an extra dollop of cream. He placed it in front of her as she tore the croissant into little strips and set about devouring it hungrily.

          "These are so amazing," she moaned. "I hope the cook at Rochefort is as half as talented as —" She blushed as she realized what she'd said. "I didn't mean to imply."

          The well spring of hope was nearly overflowing in this chest as he met her gaze, but he tamped it down as he proceeded to remove the covers from the remaining dishes. "I'm sure if you're not pleased with Mrs. Haverty, she can be replaced. I'll settle a nice severance on her and make her comfortable in her retirement." He took the opportunity of her surprise to slip a bit of eggs past her parted lips.

          "Jefferson —"

          "Shh, it's alright, Em. We don't need to make any decisions at present, but it will be one of your duties to choose new servants for our home should you find yourself unsatisfied with those we already have on staff." He smiled sadly and popped a small sausage into his mouth. He hadn't intended to delve into a lengthy discussion about the state of their marriage. A subject change was definitely in order. "Did you have any plans for the morning of which I should be aware?"

          Emma hid the smile which tugged at her lips behind the rim of her cup. "No, not really. I've been trying to stay close to the townhouse should Belle need me."

          "Well," he said, peering up at her from beneath his sinfully long lashes as he prepared another bite for her. "I think it would do us both some good to visit the park. Would you join me for my morning ride?"

          She could think of a dozen other things she'd rather do with him, and none were the least bit appropriate. "I don't know. Jefferson, I really can't ride. You've seen me and I'm rather surprised I'm not the laughingstock of the  _ton_."

          "You're not that bad, rabbit," he chuckled, removing the tray and setting it aside. He turned back to find her dipping her finger into the chocolate cream in her cup and he groaned.  _Please, God, not the chocolate again!_  What was it with his little wife and her propensity to suck cream off the tip of her finger? He closed his eyes, praying to hold onto his sanity as he felt his body tightening.

          "I'm dreadful and you know it," she insisted as she popped her finger into her mouth, her tongue darting out to give it a lick.

          He was a glutton for punishment surely, he thought as he in turn dipped his finger into the cream and brought it to her lips. His other hand slipped over her shoulder and further to curl around her nape as he inched closer. "Please, Em?" he asked, his voice whisper soft.

          The breath hitched painfully in her chest as she noticed the darkening of his gray eyes, the pupils blown wide with desire as they focused on her mouth. She knew that look all too well. She couldn't help but remember the first time they'd shared chocolate and cream together and the memory sent heat flooding through her. He'd turned something beautiful – their first kiss – into a lesson and she could have happily hit him with her shoe. Now, he was providing her with the opportunity to make a new memory to take into their marriage, a new memory to create something beautiful and poignant.

          Her husband was actually putting forth more than a little effort to win her. If she pushed him away, it could very well send him off to sulk and it would be longer than she wished before he tried again. And she had to admit – if she were going to be completely honest with herself – she really wanted to kiss him. She'd missed him so dreadfully over the length of their separation. What would it hurt to kiss her husband?

          Emma set the cup on the bedside table. Her cool fingers circled his wrist and brought his hand closer, her eyes locking with his as her tongue darted out to lick the cream from his finger. He shivered with pleasure as she drew it into her mouth and swirled her tongue over the tip.

          He didn't move. He wanted so badly to pull her onto his lap and suck the cream from her tongue, to taste her as the silky smoothness of the cream melted and mingled in their mouths only to be overpowered by her own sweet flavor, but she had to be the one to make the first move. She had to accept him, to want him. Fire coursed through his veins as her other hand slipped into the opening of his dressing robe and settled over his heart, a low moan sounding deep in his chest as her thumb brushed lightly over his nipple. "Emma …"

          Emma released his wrist and curled her fingers in the hair at his nape, drawing him forward. "Kiss me, Jefferson," she whispered, reveling in the softness of his lips as they closed over hers. They moved tentatively, cautiously, as if he were holding himself back, afraid to move too fast or take more than she was willing to give. It was an altogether new experience for her, and she frowned. This wasn't what she'd come to expect from him. There was no fire, no passion and she realized this wasn't what she wanted.

          She raked her nails over his chest, and he tore his mouth away from hers. The heat in his gaze scorched her as he searched her face, desperate to see the same desire there in her eyes that he felt in her touch. "Em, you don't —"

          She traced his bottom lip with a finger. "Shh … just kiss me. _Really_ kiss me, Jeff."

          He didn't have to be told twice, the hand at her nape tightening in her long golden locks as his lips found hers once more. There was none of the hesitancy of before as he nipped lightly at her lower lip in his quest to gain entry to the honeyed recesses of her sweet mouth. A growl rumbled low in his chest as his tongue glided sinuously with hers. She tasted of cream and chocolate and … his Emma. He'd missed her so much. He couldn't resist her allure, sliding his arm about her waist to pull her flush against his chest. He'd wanted to go slow, to court her, to show her he was sincere when he professed his love. Yet, how could he deny her?

          She squirmed restlessly as he pressed her to his chest, her nipples hardening into taut buds. His lips trailed a hot path along her jaw, his breathing labored as he searched out the pulse point beneath with his tongue, swirling it over her skin as she writhed and gasped in his arms. "I missed you so much, Em," he growled lowly as he nipped lightly at her collarbone.

          "Missed you … too. Gods! Right there!" she moaned as he hit a particularly hot spot beneath her right ear. "Th-This seems … to be … the only thing we do … well together," she panted, her hands delving roughly into his hair to hold him to her as his lips worked their magic on her flesh.

          His brow fell to her shoulder, a groan working its way from his throat as her words registered on him.

          "Why did you stop?" she breathed, her fingers soothing over his nape.

          "It doesn't have to be that way, Emma. I don't  _want_  it to be like that," he protested, lifting his head to meet her gaze. "I want all of you. I  _need_ you, Em." He pulled her hand from around his neck and brushed his lips to her fingertips. "Don't get me wrong … I enjoy nothing more than making love with you, but there's so much more. I want you to love me again."

          "Jefferson, I never stopped," she murmured, cupping his cheek in her palm. The texture of his morning stubble against her fingers sent another jolt of heat through her and she was forced to tamp it down. "I've always loved you."

          "But you won't let me in. You won't wear my ring."

          "You hurt me, Jeff. I'm sorry, but I just can't right now. You don't trust me, and I don't see how we can move forward until you do. Love and trust go hand in hand. We can't truly have one without the other." She sighed and reached up to brush an unruly curl away from his temple. "But don't think I've stopped loving you."

          He smiled sadly. "I'm so sorry I didn't tell you, Em. You will never know how much I regret it." He dropped another kiss to her lips. "And I will endeavor to prove it to you. I  _will_  make this right." He rose from the bed and went to the door, poking his head out into the hall and sending a passing footman to find her maid. "In the meantime, rabbit, you are to get dressed and be ready within the hour to show me this beast you've purchased. We'll hie off to the park and see if we can somehow keep you in the saddle."

          "Jefferson …" she groaned, slumping back onto the pillows.

          "No buts!" he snapped, a grin curling his lips. "I wish to spend time with my wife, and nothing will sway me … including said wife."

          Emma pressed her lips tightly together to stifle her giggle as he waggled his eyebrows and ducked out of the room. She had a feeling her charming husband meant every word he said. It would be exciting to see how he tried to win back her heart. It certainly wouldn't be boring.

 

*.*.*

 

          "I cannot be seen in public wearing this!" she shrieked as he tugged on her hand to get her moving.

          "'Course you can, sweetling," he replied with a wink and a roguish grin.

"Jeff!"

          "I simply love it when you get flustered," he purred, reeling her into his side and tucking her small gloved hand in the crook of his elbow as they left the house and turned onto the path which would lead them to the stables. "Makes your cheeks all rosy and your eyes flash and it sort of reminds me of when you get ready to —"

          She slapped a hand across his mouth, her eyes wide as carriage wheels. "Don't even think about finishing that sentence!"

          He chuckled behind her hand and kissed her palm. "Wouldn't dream of it." He grinned broadly, showing nearly every one of his perfect teeth, and swooped in to steal a kiss.

          Emma rolled her eyes and fell into step with him once again. "Seriously, Jefferson, I can't be seen in this," she fretted, plucking at the split skirt of her borrowed riding habit. Bridgette had let the hem down to accommodate her taller frame and it hugged each one of her enticing curves. Belle had been happy to loan it to her, relieved Jefferson was willing to teach Emma how to ride properly and wouldn't have to worry about her dear cousin falling and breaking her neck.

          "Belle looks lovely in that particular ensemble and she's not afraid to go out in public wearing it," he argued.

          "Belle is also the duchess of Sheffield. She can do as she bloody well pleases," Emma grumbled, wondering what it would be like to have such freedom. She remembered the nightmare her riding lessons had been when she had been younger with her mother looking on and belittling her for every mistake she made. "At least she didn't have it made because she couldn't ride with a ladies sidesaddle."

          He brought her hand up to his lips and dropped a kiss to the delicate skin of her wrist. "Emma, she was raised very differently than you were, love. She wasn't meant for a stodgy old drawing room with all that gypsy blood running through her veins. She needed to feel free and riding fulfilled that need. Not to mention, Maurice Whitmore was rather indulgent where she was concerned." Once more he led her forward, her horse already saddled. "Besides, perhaps you'll start a trend. Who wouldn't want to emulate both the duchess of Sheffield and the countess of Rochefort?"

          She snorted. "Where is your horse?"

          "Didn't I mention I would be riding with you?" He asked, the very picture of innocence. "I was certain I mentioned that part."

          "Jeff!"

          "I'm kidding, Em," he teased, ducking as she made to swat at him. "Callan, lad, where are you with my steed?" he called out to one of the grooms.

          The boy led a magnificent stallion forward, its coat brushed to a fine sheen. The stallion tossed his head and then nuzzled into Jefferson's palm in search of a treat. The earl removed his gloves so he could run a gentle hand over his shiny coat. "That's a good boy, Devil … good boy."

          Emma inched closer and tucked her gloves in the pocket of her thick wool coat. "He's so beautiful. I always envied your ease with the beast when we'd go riding with Belle and Robbie. It was almost as if you were born to the saddle."

          Jefferson dug an apple out of his coat pocket and fed it to his beloved horse. "You have to develop a relationship with your horse, Em. You must build trust as with any relationship." He groaned, wishing his wayward tongue to perdition, but she didn't call him on it as she moved over to her mare.

          "I haven't even chosen a name for her yet," she murmured, drawing her hand back when the horse tossed her head.

          Her husband stepped up behind her and drew another apple from his pocket, placing it in her hand. His breath caressed her ear as he whispered encouragingly. "Show her that you are her friend." He moved to her other ear as his hand caressed the back of her right, guiding it up to brush over the mare's soft coat. "Show her you will be a gentle mistress." His tongue darted out to wet his dry lips, those words uttered so innocently from him tongue conjuring more than one image of him at his wife's tender mercies.

          Emma was rewarded with a gentle nudge from the mare's nose and she couldn't help smiling at her husband over her shoulder. "I think she likes me."

          He cleared his throat, trying to quell the lust surging through his body. "'Course she does. Now … ah … pick a name," he urged, ready to be off. Hopefully the frosty air of late January would drive the desire from his blood and replace it with the desire to get warm.

          "Smoke? She resembles the color of the ashes left behind in the hearth. I think it's rather fitting," Emma said with a firm nod as she continued to pet the glossy coat.

          The mare tossed her head as if agreeing with her and Jefferson seemed to snap out of the spell his wife had cast over him with her soft words and warm touch. "I think she likes it as well. Smoke it is, then. Are you ready to go?"

          Emma put her hand in his and nodded tentatively as he led her to the new saddle and helped her into it. It felt strange to be sitting astride, like a man, but she forced the thought away, determined to be brave … ready for another new experience.

 

*.*.*

 

          "Grip with your knees, Em. It will give you more stability … Move with her, not against her … You're too stiff. Relax, rabbit, and just enjoy yourself …"

          The ride to Hyde Park had been eventful, she had to give him that. Thankfully, not too many had ventured out to witness her morning ride with her husband. It seemed as if a permanent blush would color her cheeks forever at the scandalous nature of her skirt, but those they did encounter didn't remark upon it. She did feel more confident, however, by the time they returned to the stables. His simple instructions, coupled with what she already knew about riding, had given her a renewed sense of accomplishment ... one which had been sadly lacking in her former education.

          Jefferson made her see that not everything had to be perfect. She was allowed to make mistakes with him, and he never scolded or belittled her if she slipped up. It also helped that her new mare didn't seem to mind Emma's slight weight on her back, and responded eagerly to her new mistress's commands.

          She couldn't seem to help herself from melting into his embrace as he helped her dismount, his arms tightening about her waist as she nestled into his chest. "I take it you enjoyed yourself?"

          "I did, very much," she assured him, linking her arm through his as he drew her farther into the stable proper, past the stalls where the grooms worked diligently to care for the duke's prized horseflesh. "I don't think I've ever felt more comfortable atop a horse before." She stopped and gazed up at him, her smile radiant. "And it's all thanks to you. I may need to visit the modiste sometime this week to order a few more of these riding habits."

          Jefferson shook his head. "No, rabbit, it's all thanks to you. You felt more secure without the sidesaddle - which is complete nonsense if you ask me – and you let yourself go. And you should know, I will not deny you whatever you might need. I think when we return to Rochefort, you'll enjoy riding across our lands." Her gaze slid away from him and he cursed inwardly. "When you're ready, Em. I'm not trying to push. We'll remain in London as long as you like."

          She brightened at that. "You don't mind?"

          "Of course not. Though I would like to remind you, we have our own townhouse. We don't have to stay with Robbie and Belle."

          "I like to be close to Belle. She's not just my cousin, Jeff. She's the closest I've ever come to a real friend. And with the baby coming, I need to be here." Her emerald eyes held a note of pleading for him to understand.

          "Then we will stay." He tugged on her hand, urging her to follow, stopping at the base of the ladder and looking up. "I know you're afraid of heights, but would you indulge me just this once?"

          Her eyes widened and she swallowed back a startled laugh. "You're joking. Whyever would you want me to climb a ladder?" she asked, turning her fearful gaze to the ladder which led up into the hayloft.

          "It's a surprise," he replied with a waggle of his dark brows. "I promise not to let you fall, Em. Trust me."

          There was that word again, she thought bemusedly. He may not feel confident enough to trust in her, but he'd never given her a reason not to trust him. Still she was hesitant to put her foot on the first rung. "Jefferson, I don't know."

He wrapped an arm about her waist and moved her, so she was facing the ladder, his warm chest pressed against her back. "Close your eyes."

          "Why?"

          "Indulge me."

          "You're barking mad if you think —" Her voice trailed away into a soft moan as his lips brushed over the shell of her ear and heat began to prickle along her flesh.

          Satisfied when she finally obeyed his soft plea, he placed her hands on the rungs and nudged her foot forward with his boot. Her hands tightened reflexively on the wood and a small whimper escaped her parted lips. "Do you feel me, sweetling?" She gave a jerky nod, the acrid taste of fear at the back of her tongue battling with the desire pooling in her belly. "I will  _not_  let you fall. As you climb, so shall I. I will never leave you for a moment."

          They made slow progress, stopping every few rungs to reassure her, but they finally made it to the top and the open hay loft. She sat down wearily on a hay bale and wrapped her arms about herself, her entire body trembling. He knelt before her and drew her into his arms, tucking her head beneath his chin. "You did so well, Emma … My brave beautiful wife … I love you so much."

          "I did, didn't i?" she whispered softly, astonished that she'd faced another of her fears and prevailed. "Perhaps on the way down I might even open my eyes."

          He chuckled, pulling her to her feet and leading her deeper into the loft. The smell of fresh hay scented the air, muting the scent of horseflesh far below them. It was colder in the loft than in the stable proper, but not frigid enough to cause discomfort. The duke was manic about his horses – they were one of his precious investments, after all – and therefore made certain the stable was kept warm. Small windows dotted the walls at ten-foot intervals to provide warming rays of sunlight to guide their way.

          Emma gasped as he led her into a space surrounded by highly stacked bales, a blanket spread out atop one bale which had been busted open and scattered about to make a cushion against the wood floor. There were also several pillows strewn about which – if she wasn't mistaken – had been pilfered from the drawing room. Atop the blanket was set a large picnic basket. She should have known he couldn't wait for lunch.

          "Jefferson," she retorted incredulously, tossing her hair back with a shake of her head. It had come loose from its coiffure in their wild ride across the park and she hadn't thought to secure it when they'd returned. "This is why you made me climb up here? For a picnic?"

          He shrugged, dropping down onto the blanket and delving into the basket. He held his silence until she'd joined him, her hands toying nervously with her skirt as she watched him curiously. "We've picnicked before. Something you seemed to enjoy."

          "It was also springtime at the lake," she drawled dryly, accepting the glass of white wine he'd poured for her. "And you were simply awful."

          A small crease appeared between his brows at the memory. "Perhaps I was afraid of what I was beginning to feel for you. I was attracted to you – well at least when your lips weren't flapping with some nonsense your mother insisted was polite conversation – and I was having trouble accepting it."

          She gaped at him. "I think that's one of the most honest things you've ever said to me," she breathed. He'd begun opening up more and more to her, beginning with his confession the night before. His honesty and willingness to share with her went a long way towards winning her forgiveness. Now if she could just gain his trust.

          Jefferson clasped her hand in his and tugged off her glove, tossing it aside to enable him to drop a lingering kiss to her palm. "If I hadn't been such a fool, I would have courted you properly. There would have been rides in the park …" His lips trailed over the delicate flesh of her wrist. "Stolen moments in the hay loft. I would have filled your dance card, and seduced you in the garden. Your parlor would have been nigh to bursting with flowers. I very well may have even serenaded you with poetry beneath your bedroom window." He pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth. "Then I would have presented my suit to your father and begged for your hand." Her lips parted on a gasp, her eyes drooping in pleasure as he nibbled softly at her lower lip. "After I gained his acceptance, I would have taken you out onto the terrace and professed my love, praying you would have me as I slipped my ring onto your finger." His lips trailed tenderly along the curve of her jaw to her ear. "Would you have accepted me, my love?"

          "Yes," she breathed, her breath sweetened with wine, fanning hotly against his face as he claimed her lips. It was over all too quickly as he moved to her opposite ear. "Yes, you know I would have."

          "I love you, Emma. I think I have for far longer than I realized." His fingers deftly untied the lace at her throat and tossed it aside. "You are everything to me," he murmured against her collarbone, pausing to dip his tongue into the hollow of her throat, reveling in the sweet salty taste of her skin. "I want to take you home and horde you away because you are my greatest treasure. I want to spend days at a time simply loving you, pleasuring you. I want children with you, my love."

          Emma felt tears prick at her lids as she pushed his jacket off to fall behind him. It was everything she'd wanted from the moment she'd decided only he would do for her husband. Finally, he had found the words to surrender his heart to her and they were so beautiful she could have wept. "N-No more hiding?"

          "Never, rabbit. You have me … all of me. I'm yours," he assured her, working the little pearl buttons on her blouse to press a hot openmouthed kiss to the valley between her breasts as she yielded to his touch and delved her hands into his hair, pulling him closer.

          He lost his balance under her grasping hands and they toppled over into the hay. She didn't miss a beat, pushing against his shoulders until he rolled onto his back and she was able to join her mouth to his. She thrust her tongue past his lips, savoring the taste of him as she sought out the inner recesses of his mouth. She'd missed him so much.

          It barely registered on her when the hatch at the top of the ladder banged open and Callan called, "Lady Emma! Lord Madden! You must come. Her Grace is having the baby!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I know I said the baby was coming this chapter and I really wanted it too, but Jeff and Emma totally took over and said I had to write what they wanted instead of what I'd planned. MadSwan's troubles aren't over quite yet, but they're headed in the right direction :D Regardless, I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Next chapter, the baby arrives, and poor Robbie doesn't know what hit him (I promise!). Poor darling (o: I look forward to hearing what you think, so please review! Thank you all for reading!


	14. Chapter 14

          Belle squirmed uncomfortably and shoved another pillow between her aching back and the back of the sofa she sat upon in the parlor. She trembled, the cup of tea in her hand rattling noisily against its saucer. She should have been enjoying her morning tea and scones she normally indulged in between breakfast and lunch. Usually it brought her comfort, but this morning no matter what she did, she couldn't seem to ease the pain in her back.

          She concentrated on her breathing, trying to keep it steady and even as she called upon her gift. Focusing all her energies, she envisioned the pain – embraced it – and wound it into a tight ball. Just as she thought she had it centered and malleable to her whim, it exploded into a shower of sparks, sending a myriad of sharp stinging pain to every one of her nerve endings.

          She'd taught her husband how to block her wayward gift since they'd been married, so as not to suffer any ill effects due to her lack of control, but if she weren't careful, the pain she was experiencing could very well break through his walls like tissue paper. The last thing she wanted was to see her Robbie suffer what she was going through. She'd always been told labor was a violent contortion of her abdominal muscles as her body prepared to expel the baby. No one had ever mentioned this searing pain in her back, and she couldn't imagine what was causing it. Perhaps she'd pulled a muscle due to the extra weight she carried?

          Her stomach roiled violently as she lifted her cup, her favorite peppermint tea not agreeing with her this morning at all. She was ready to return to her bed when Henderson knocked softly on the parlor door. "Your Grace, there is a  _woman_  here to see you," he intoned with an imperious sniff.

          Apparently, she wasn't one of their acquaintances judging by the disdainful expression on his dour face. "Did she leave a calling card, Henderson?"

          "No, Your Grace. Should I tell her you aren't receiving this morning?"

          Belle shook her head, in need of a distraction to take her mind off the pain. "That won't be necessary. Please show her in and perhaps fetch us a fresh pot of tea and some refreshments."

          "Very good, Your Grace. I'll see to it at once." He bowed to her and left the room.

          Belle smoothed a hand over the skirt of her mauve day gown and bit her lip thoughtfully, wondering who her guest might be who wouldn't have left a card. Her eyes widened as a willowy raven-haired beauty pushed her way past the stodgy butler and made her way swiftly to Belle's side. "Esme!" the duchess squealed in delight, pulling the girl into her arms as Esme dropped to her knees at Belle's feet. "Oh, darling, what are you doing here?"

          "Belle," Esme whispered tearfully, drawing away for a moment, her eyes widening in disbelief as she took in the advanced state of her friend's pregnancy. She rose from the rug and settled herself on the sofa at Belle's side. "Didn't you receive my letter?"

          "I did, but it was rather cryptic," she said softly, clasping the girl's hand in both of hers. "You should have sent word round to the house to let us know you'd arrived, and I would have sent the carriage to the docks to collect you. What kind of trouble are you in this time, Esmerelda?"

          Wide violet eyes peeked up at her guiltily from beneath long ebony lashes and raven's wing brows. "What makes you think I'm in trouble?" Esme asked sweetly as she pursed her lips.

          Belle leveled her with a pointed stare. They'd been friends since childhood, the Petrovs having been the closest thing her mother had to family. They'd followed Maurice and Irina to America when the couple had fled the scandal of their marriage, rejected by his family and disowned from hers. The girls were only a year apart in age and for a while it had been rumored Maurice would make a match between Esme and August, but it had never been settled.

          Now it was too late. She would have loved to have been able to call the girl 'sister', but it hadn't been meant to be. She would have made a bad match for August anyway. Esmerelda had a fiery temperament and was in no way shy or timid. August would have squashed the fire right out of her.

          "When are you  _not_  in trouble?" Belle asked dryly, her eyes darting to the doorway. "And just where is Danior? He never lets you out of his sight. I cannot see him allowing you to come all this way without him."

          Esmerelda winced at the thought of her faithful companion. He was a big lumbering ox with more muscle than brains, but he'd never failed her. She'd found him near their home in the forests of Maine, near death from a chest wound – several in fact – caused by the arrows still imbedded in his flesh. She'd made a small shelter for him and nursed him back to health, not knowing if he would live or die. He couldn't even tell her how he'd come by the wounds as he couldn't speak. Later she would learn his captors had taken his tongue and would have taken his life had he not escaped. He'd been her faithful servant ever since.

          Which is why she looked more than a little guilty when she said, "I may have slipped a wee sleeping draught into his ale so I could come to see you."

          "Oh, Esme, you didn't! He's going to be worried sick."

          "Darling, you don't know the half of it," she groaned, taking the cup of tea her friend poured and adding a bit of sugar and cream. She opted to change the subject, not wanting to spoil their reunion with her problems. "So … married and expecting. Clearly not what I had thought to find when I got here," she chuckled. "You  _are_  married, aren't you?"

          "Yes, I'm married, Esme," Belle smirked, arching a brow at her. "And believe me, it's not …" She paused, her breath catching as another sharp pain lanced through her back. "… what I was expecting either."

          Esmerelda's eyes narrowed on the duchess and she cocked her head to the side, her gaze missing nothing. "It never is," she agreed. "When I went to Regina's, imagine my surprise to find the house no longer there. The neighbors referred me to this address. A duchess, Belle, seriously? What does Auggie have to say about your new station in life?"

          Belle took a sip of her cooling tea and grimaced, setting it back on the tray. "August is no longer with us … he died, Esme."

          The gypsy girl's violet eyes widened in horror as she set her cup aside and reached for Belle's hand. "Oh, darling, what happened?" she asked in a horrified whisper.

          "He really was responsible for our parent's death," the duchess said, just as quietly so as not to be overheard by the servants. She suspected they already knew, but if they didn't, she didn't want it to become common knowledge. "I think his gift might have driven him a bit mad. You remember what mama told us happened to her brother. August apparently shared his fate." She didn't feel the need to elaborate, the wounds still fresh in her mind from the loss of her twin. He'd deserved his end, but it didn't make it any easier to bear.

          "And your husband, the duke? I'm assuming you told him of your gift?"

          "Eventually," Belle admitted wryly. "I don't think anything would have deterred Robbie from his pursuit. He was quite determined."

          "I just never thought you would settle for an Englishman, however. You were rather set against the country in general when August made you accompany him here … not that you had much choice in the matter." Again, she watched the lines of pain deepen at the corners of Belle's mouth, the pause in her speech, the clenching of her hands in her lap. "Belle?"

          "Hmm?" she returned, fighting off another stab of agony.

          "How long have you been in labor?"

          "What?!" Belle asked, her brow knitting into a frown. "I'm not in labor, Esme. It's just a bit of pain in my back."

          "How long?" the gypsy insisted, reaching out with her own gifts to touch upon the walls Belle had built up to protect her loved ones.

          "Stop that, Esmerelda Petrov! You know you're not supposed to probe without my permission," Belle scolded, feeling the little tendrils of Esme's gift brush across her mind. Long ago when they'd discovered their talents, they'd promised not to invade the other's privacy and Belle shouldn't have had to remind her.

          "And you stop avoiding the question. How long have you been suffering with your back?"

          Belle bit her lip thoughtfully. "I don't know … um … perhaps last night after dinner."

          "Oh, Belle, contractions are not necessarily confined to the abdominal muscles. You're having back labor. I know there's a technical term mama uses, but I just can't seem to remember it right now," she said referring to Lyra who served as midwife to their small band. "You should be in bed."

          "Why the bloody hell is it so damn hot in here!?" came a voice from the door of the parlor. Robert removed his frock coat and laid it over the back of a nearby chair, glaring at the cold hearth as he attacked the scrap of silk at his neck. He flung the cravat atop his coat and moved to the french doors which led out onto the veranda, flinging them wide. "Are you hot, dearest?"

          "No, darling, I'm not. Perhaps you're coming down with something," she said, noting his flushed cheeks and damp brow. "Why don't you go lie down for a while?"

          For the first time, his gaze came to rest upon their guest, and he was instantly contrite, realizing he was making a bad impression. "Pardon me, ladies," he apologized with a little bow.

          Belle smiled through her pain. "Robbie, this is my dearest friend, Esmerelda Petrov. Esme, this is Robbie, my husband." She leaned closer to her friend. "He's also known as the stodgy Duke of Sheffield, but I don't hold it against him," she said in a stage whisper.

          He smirked and arched a brow at his wife as he bowed to Miss Petrov and brushed a light kiss to her knuckles. "Charmed, m'dear." He dropped into a chair to Belle's right and reached for the tea pot, needing some form of libation to ease the heat prickling at his skin. "What brings you to our shores?"

          Esme grimaced, lowering her gaze to avoid the duke's penetrating stare. "Actually, I'm here on a personal matter. I'm looking for my husband."

          "Husband!" Belle cried, her eyes widening with stunned disbelief. "When did you get married?"

          "It's complicated."

          Robert snorted and Belle shot him a bemused glare. "How is it complicated, Esme. This isn't like you. When your father wanted to have you betrothed to Auggie, you didn't hesitate to voice your objections."

          "I didn't want to marry at all, which you very well know. I didn't wish to marry August because it would have been akin to marrying my brother."

          "She was going to marry your bounder of a brother?" Robert whispered in an aside over the rim of his cup.

          "Not now, love," Belle returned, patting his knee. She turned her attention back to Esme. "Was your father pressuring you?" she asked, refusing to believe Vasili Petrov would want to force his only daughter into a marriage she didn't want.

          "No, it was Velkin. He talked papa into agreeing to a marriage between myself and Sergei."

          Belle wrinkled her nose in distaste, remembering the man in question. He was a close friend of the Petrovs, widowed, much older than Esme, and always reeking of garlic. Actually, his son would have been a better match considering they were of a closer age. "Velkin must have owed him money, no doubt. Quite heavily if your father agreed to it."

          Esme nodded. She'd always feared Velkin's gambling would one day get them in trouble. "So, I ran. Danior and I went to Boston … or the outskirts really. It's where I met my husband. We were camped on the east side of the Charles River. We found the poor man, burning with fever, looked like he'd been in the water for days and his naval uniform was clearly British, at least the parts which weren't tattered and hanging off him in shreds. I can only assume he'd been on the losing side of a naval battle."

          "Oh, Esme," Belle crooned softly. "You took him in and cared for him? You won his heart as you nursed him back to health?"

          Esmerelda arched one raven's wing brow at her. "Hardly, darling. My drunkard brother found us, accused him of stealing my virtue and forced us before a minister at knife point. Then before I could protest, he had his men toss Jones on the first ship bound for England."

          "Bloody hell!" Robert growled, rising to pace the confines of the room. "What kind of person does that to his sister?" Of course, they weren't gentry. Who knows what went on in those backwater colonies? His late brother in law was a prime example.

          "Velkin thought to bring me back to Sergei, but wasn't too keen on the idea because he believed me to be less than virtuous. Danior didn't take kindly to his treatment of me and enabled our escape," she explained, setting her cup aside.

          "And this Jones … was he opposed to the marriage?"

          "Kicking and screaming all the way to the altar. Could you really blame him?" she asked, seething with righteous indignation that her brother would do something so vile as to take away their rights. "I've come to try to find him in an effort to grant him an annulment. There's no reason he should have to suffer because my brother is an idiot."

          "And afterwards?" Robert asked, eyeing her thoughtfully. "Will you return to Maine or remain here in England?"

          Esme shrugged. "I don't know. I suppose Danior and I will remain at least for a while until we can earn enough money to travel."

          "You're welcome to stay with us, Esme," Belle offered with a firm nod. "Robbie has resources which will make your search for this Jones person that much simpler." She reached out to squeeze her friend's hand. "And it will give us time to catch up, yes?"

          "Belle, I don't want to be any trouble," she protested.

          "Nonsense. You're my friend and I want you to stay."

          "Who is this Danior person she keeps mentioning?" he asked as he leaned over to drop a kiss to Belle's temple.

          "He's her protector, darling." She glanced up at him and noticed the lines of pain around his eyes and mouth. "Are you alright, Robbie? You look a little peaky."

          "My stomach hurts and it's too bloody hot in the house. I may go for a walk in the garden," he grumbled.

          Esme watched the exchange between the two and glared meaningfully at Belle. The gypsy girl knew exactly what havoc Belle's gift was playing on her poor husband. "Belle, how long do you think –"

          "A little longer, if you don't mind," the duchess said in a warning tone.

          "A little longer for what, sweetheart?" Robert asked, frowning as he watched Belle's hands tighten into fists in her lap, the knuckles white as fine bone china.

          Esme met his gaze, her eyes flashing as she easily swept into his mind. Being a full-blooded gypsy, she'd always been stronger than Belle and it was simple to brush Robert's walls aside to probe his mind. He was suffering the same hot flashes as Belle, him being the closest person to her heart, he was going to be doomed to experience the effects with her. Actually, she was quite surprised he wasn't writhing on the floor in pain. No doubt, Belle had taught him well.

          The duchess shot her a look of betrayal as she felt the gypsy's empathic power sweep over her husband, not liking it one bit that she'd used it on someone she considered hers. "Esme."

          Esme withdrew with a shrug, a small smirk curling her full lips. "I was just curious, darling."

          Belle rose awkwardly to her feet, determined to find Travers to send him with Esme to collect her things from wherever she was staying in London. "I need to … " She paused as Robert rose with her, clutching a fistful of his waistcoat in an iron grip as another contraction ripped through her back. " … to find Travers. He'll need to escort Esme back to her … lodging so she can gather her things."

          "Is there any way he can do that alone if I give him the address? I don't want to leave you while you're in labor."

          "What?!"

          "I'm not in … " A rush of warmth alerted her to the fact her water had just broken, liquid pooling about her feet and staining her silk slippers. "… labor."

          "And you've been sitting here having tea and visiting as if everything was fine?!" Robert shrieked, panic settling into the fine lines of his countenance. "What were you thinking?!"

          Belle groaned as he swept her up into his arms and quickly carried her out of the room. "I didn't know! That's my only defense. Esme's mother is a midwife and I just didn't know you could suffer labor in your back. I thought –"

          "Henderson!" he bellowed, not interested just now in his wife's excuses. The man appeared instantly as the duke reached the stairs. "Send for the doctor, man, immediately. And have one of the footmen find Emma. And someone needs to tell my mother!"

          Belle stroked a hand along the curve of his jaw as he took the stairs two at a time, anxious to reach their bedroom. "Darling, please calm down. These things take time. There's no need to panic."

          "Easy for you to say. You only have to deliver the baby."

          She arched a brow at him as he laid her gently down on the duvet and went to the wardrobe to fetch a clean nightgown. "Oh, indeed, my love. It's going to be a cake walk," she muttered dryly.

          When he turned, Esme was there already working at the buttons on Belle's day gown. He brushed her aside with curt instructions to gather water and clean towels. If he were soon to be booted from the room, he was going to first see to his wife's comfort. He carefully removed her sodden clothing and bathed the damp sheen of sweat from her skin before helping her dress.

          "Is there anything I can get you?" he asked, a worried frown creasing his brow. He rinsed the cloth out in the basin again and gently washed her face, brushing her damp locks away from her brow.

          She clasped his hands in hers, biting her lip nervously when she noticed they were shaking. "Robbie, please, darling, go to your club. I don't want you to stay here and suffer should I lose control of my gift."

          "Oh, my dearest Belle, I would stay right here by your side if I didn't know your ladies would boot me from the room. I don't want to be anywhere else," he whispered against her temple as he gathered her close to his chest and stroked a comforting hand through her hair.

          She stiffened, her fingers digging into his forearms. "Ow … " she hissed, the air seeping out through her clenched teeth. "Robbie, I'm frightened." His eyes were wide and liquid as she met his gaze and she could have happily kicked herself for increasing his worry.

          He pressed a lingering kiss to her brow. "I'm not going to the club, Belle. I'll be here should you need me."

          "I always need you," she rushed to assure him.

          Emma barreled through the door, her emerald eyes sparkling with excitement and not a small bit of fear. "Robert! What are you doing here?"

          "I would think that would be obvious, dearie," he snarked impatiently, realizing reinforcements had arrived. "I'm comforting my wife."

          "He's a stubborn one, isn't he," Esme chuckled, coming to add a few more pillows to Belle's back.

          "Who are you?" Emma asked, eyeing the girl suspiciously as she moved to the end of the bed.

          "I'm Esme … Belle and I grew up together and I've just arrived in England," she explained, nodding to Emma. "And just in time it seems."

          "Esme's mother, Lyra, is a midwife," Belle explained. "Esme, this is my cousin, Emma. I'm so happy both of you are here." She leaned forward suddenly, burying her face against Robert's throat as a contraction started in her back and wrapped viciously around her abdomen. Robert grimaced at the pressure she exerted on his arms as she cried out, the sound reverberating in his left ear. Yet, he couldn't think of any place he'd rather be.

          "Come on, Emma," Esme said, beckoning to the other woman. "There are things we're going to need, and I think Robert and Belle would benefit from a bit more time together."

          "Don't worry, Robbie," Emma said, casting a sympathetic smile his way. "Jefferson is waiting for you in the study with a fresh bottle of scotch and I've sent a footman to round up Killian, so you won't have to suffer alone."

 

*.*.*

 

          "Come on, Rob, you need to sit down before you fall flat on your face," Killian cajoled, trying to press another drink into his hand. It was only his second. The first he’d downed in one swallow to settle his nerves, but this one remained untouched. "You don't look well at all, mate."

          "Piss off, St. James," he growled irritably as he continued to pace like a caged animal about the room. Considering his dearest friends were keeping him prisoner in his study to prevent him from racing up the stairs to his bedroom, it wasn't far off the mark. "Let's see how you fare one day when you finally marry and have to muddle through this. My poor Belle is suffering the agonies of the damned and I'm not allowed –  _allowed for fuck's sake!_ – to be at her side!"

          Killian rolled his eyes and pulled a flask from the breast pocket of his charcoal gray frock coat. "Would you prefer a shot of rum instead?"

          Jefferson shot up off the sofa, abandoning his own drink to step between the two as Robert took a threatening step towards their friend, his hands curled into fists. Never a good sign, that. "Alright, Killian, enough. Your wit is not appreciated."

          Robert swayed on his feet, his anger weakening the mental walls he erected to protect himself from Belle's gift. He gasped, his eyes rolling back in his head as her pain washed over him. "Bloody fuck!" he roared, collapsing to his knees.

          Jefferson knew exactly what was going on, having been warned by Belle more than a week ago as to what he could expect. She'd wanted him to take Robert off to the club, but the duke would not be budged on his stubborn refusal to leave. "Breathe, Robbie. Come on, deep breaths," he murmured softly, resting a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder. "Remember what Belle said. You have to concentrate."

          Killian hunkered down beside them and arched a brow at Jefferson. "Concentrate on what?"

          "Never mind," the earl answered, knowing Killian wasn't privy to the knowledge of Belle's gift.

          Robert groaned and dropped back against the rug as he fought to drag air into his starving lungs. "Blessed St. Bridget! I swear I'll never touch her again!" he growled hoarsely.

          Killian chortled gleefully. "Yeah, right, Rob!"

          Jefferson shoved him hard in the chest so that he fell over onto his arse. "Shut it, you!" he said reproachfully. "Haven't you caused enough trouble lately?"

          "My poor Belle," the duke groaned, clawing at the pain in his abdomen. "My precious little love is dying and it's all my fault."

          "What do you mean I've caused enough trouble? Are you implying I've been less than honorable with your little wife, Rochefort?" Killian asked, his lips curling up into an infuriating grin.

          "Emma wouldn't be unfaithful to me … especially not with you," Jefferson sneered as he helped Robert to his feet and into a chair. This time he took the drink and tossed it back before holding it out to his friend to have it refilled.

          "Just what is that supposed to mean, mate?"

          Jefferson snorted. "You're not her type."

          A scream pierced the air and Robert shot to his feet, slipping around the arguing pair to throw the door open. The earls each grabbed an arm as he gained the bottom step of the ornate staircase and dragged him back down the hall to the study. "Lemme go, you tosser, m'Belle needs me!"

          "She needs you to stay the hell out of the way," Jefferson huffed, closing the door behind them. "Last time you went up there, Emma threatened to brain you with the wash basin. Do you really want a concussion before you can meet your child?"

          "Come on, Rob, it can't last much longer," Killian reasoned. "She's been up there since before lunchtime yesterday. What's that … eighteen hours or so?"

          Jefferson smacked his forehead and raked a hand down his face. "You're not helping, Killian."

          "Get out! Both of you! Out of my house. It's your fault I can't get to her," Robert moaned petulantly as he raked both his hands through his rather unkempt hair.

          The earls exchanged a dubious look and shook their heads. "We're not going to leave you in this condition, Robbie. Forget it. You can try to beat the hell out of us later." Jefferson poured himself another drink and flopped down on the sofa, leaving Killian to take up his position against the study door to bar Robert's only exit.

          "Women have babies every day, Rob. You're worrying over nothing," Killian scoffed with a huge yawn.

          "Emma and Esme assured me Belle is doing beautifully. Besides, the doctor would have come down himself if there had been problems," Jefferson added.

          Robert leaned his head back against the chair, silently plotting the murder of his two dearest friends in the world. Who needed friends, anyway? Bludgeoning? Pistols at dawn? "Load my dueling pistols, Jeff … and shoot me. I can't take it anymore." He'd changed his mind. It would be better for  _him_  to die. He wouldn't be able to live without his precious wife. He needed her more than air. To think that he'd been responsible for her …

          Another ear-splitting scream rent the air and he was up again and running for the door. Killian's eyes widened, only barely ducking out of the way as Robert's fist hit the door where his head had been only seconds before.

          Killian glanced over at Jefferson who hadn't moved from his position on the sofa, simply too tired to run after him any longer. "I think he's bloody serious!"

          "Y'think?"

          Robert pounded up the stairs, his heart stuttering as another cry joined the ones coming from his beloved wife. He didn't stop until he reached his bedroom, a smiling Dr. Frazier stepping out, looking worn but jovial.

          "Congratulations, Your Grace. Mother and baby are doing just fine," the rotund physician said happily, instantly putting the duke's mind at ease.

          "My wife … is she …" He gasped for breath, realizing he'd been holding it. "Is she going to be alright?"

          "The duchess is a strong woman. Though first babies are the most difficult to deliver, she did amazingly well. She'll have to remain in bed for several days, but she'll make a full recovery."

          "Can I see her?" he asked hopefully, his eyes riveted on the door. He wanted nothing more than to see for himself that she was well.

          "Miss Petrov and Lady Madden are seeing to her comfort and getting her cleaned up. And your lovely mother is seeing to the child. I'm sure it shouldn't be too long before you can see her. Again, congratulations, Your Grace." The doctor took his leave, whistling a happy tune on his way to the door. The arrival of a new life always left him feeling exhilarated.

          Robert glared balefully at his bedroom door and turned on his heel to retreat to his study. Jefferson rose slowly to his feet as he watched Robbie dazedly walk through the study door. "Well? Is she ok? The baby?"

          A relieved smile crept over his features as he met his friend's worried gaze. "Frazier said they're both doing fine, and I can see them shortly."

          "Congratulations, Rob," Killian beamed, clapping him on the back. "Was it a boy or a girl?"

          The duke's brow crinkled in confusion. "You know, I was so worried about Belle, I forgot to ask."

          Jefferson laughed as he poured a drink for each of them. He passed them around and took a hearty swig, glad it was finally over, and his friend could relax. He wouldn't say no to a good eight hours of sleep curled around his own wife. And then the knock they'd been waiting for sounded at the door and he rushed to answer it, smiling lovingly at Emma as she entered the room with the baby held carefully in her arms.

          "Robbie?" she said softly, making her way to his side. "Say hello to your son."

          Tears fell unchecked from his eyes as he took the infant from her and cradled him gently against his chest. "Hi, baby," he crooned, a look of pure wonder and adoration spreading over his worn countenance. "I'm your papa. I'm so happy to finally meet you."

          Killian had to look away, feeling tears beginning to prick at his own eyes as he watched his dear friend reduced to primordial goo in light of holding his child for the first time. He was not expecting his gaze to settle on the dark-haired beauty hovering in the doorway. His glass crashed to the floor, the color draining from his face as she stepped forward, her eyes wide with disbelief.

          Jefferson's gaze swung to Killian and then down to the shattered glass at his feet. "What the hell, St. James? Can't hold your liquor … literally."

          Emma turned to Esme, following Killian's murderous gaze. "You know each other?" she asked, taking note of the surprise on Esme's face.

          "I should hope so, love. A man should know his wife when he sees her."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Alright, you lot, I cannot begin to express how dreadful it was to write this chapter. It did NOT want to be written. However, I had to come up with some backstory for Esmerelda and Killian since their story is next. Did you like it? Hate it? Don't care one way or the other? Lemme know, ok? Sorry there wasn't much MadSwan in this chapter, but they will return tomorrow. There will be much more MadSwan/Rumbelle fluff before the end, darlings. I promise (o: Thank you all so much for putting up with my insanity and sticking with me. Love and hugs.


	15. Chapter 15

          "You're married?" Jefferson snickered as he looked between the dark-haired beauty and his friend. Seeing the animosity evident between the two, he couldn't help but chortle with glee. "Priceless!"

          "Jefferson!" Emma hissed, her elbow connecting with his ribs.

          "He's your husband?" Robert asked, tearing his eyes away from his son to gape at the girl.

          Neither Killian nor Esmerelda paid them the least bit of attention, lost in their own turmoil. "What are you doing here?" he snarled, making his way around the sofa to confront her.

          She clasped her trembling hands before her, but refused to back down in the face of his rage. "I came to England l-looking for you. I –"

          "You what?! Came to see how else you might bedevil me with that lot you call a family!" he seethed, his beryl eyes flashing murderously. "You got what you wanted … my  _name_. What could you possibly want from me now?"

          Esme reached out to him, her hand balling into a tight fist as he jerked his arm out of her reach. "Killy –"

          "Don't call me that!"

          Jefferson hooted with laughter. "Killy?"

          Emma shot him a warning glare, but it did little to temper his amusement.

          Esme bit her lip and prayed for patience, wishing her first meeting with her estranged husband didn't have to have so many witnesses. She gentled her tone, ignoring the pain of his outright rejection churning in her belly. She hadn't expected any less. "Killian, can't we talk somewhere a bit more private? I'm sure when you hear what I have to say –"

          His lips curled over his pearly white teeth as he towered over her, looking down his nose at her. "I have  _nothing_  to say to you, m'dear, so save it."

          Jefferson's eyes widened and Emma clamped a hand over his mouth before he could say something they'd all regret. The baby chose that moment to let out a piercing cry, disturbed by the rampant noise in the room.

          Robert held his son closer and narrowed his eyes on the squabbling pair. "Enough! You're upsetting my son," he growled.

          Killian flushed hotly, tearing his gaze away from his wife to apologize to his friend. "I beg your pardon, Rob," he said. He needed a drink and he felt he'd imposed enough upon the duke today as it was. "I'll be at the club."

          Robert nodded and followed him out of the room, going their separate ways once they'd gained the hall. Esme folded her arms across her chest and lowered her head, angry she hadn't even had a chance to apologize to him for what her family had done.

          She startled a bit as Emma wrapped an arm about her shoulders. "Are you alright?"

          Esme nodded and tried in vain to pull herself together, brushing at an errant tear which sought escape the corner of her eye. "Fine, thank you. I think I'll just … I'll just be in my room," she mumbled, nodding to the earl on her way out of the room.

          Emma turned to her husband, arching an irritated brow at him. "What?" he asked, not liking the way her piercing emerald eyes seemed to cut right through him.

          "Do you always have to make light of other's suffering, Jefferson?"

          He cringed and lowered his gaze. He knew all too well what it was like to have difficulties with one's wife. He sighed, his shoulders drooping slightly. "I suppose you want me to go after him and make sure he doesn't drink himself into oblivion."

          She closed the distance between them and peeked up at him from beneath her long lashes. "That would be best," she replied softly as she took his hand in hers. "It's what friends do, and no matter how jealous of him you've been of late, he is still your friend."

          "Fine," he agreed grudgingly. "Can I at least have a kiss before I go?" he asked, hoping she was still treading the path with him to forgiveness.

          Her cheeks flushed a rosy pink as she bit her lip, but she didn't object when he pulled her into his arms. She kissed the corner of his mouth, smiling sweetly as his brow furrowed in frustration. "Hurry back."

 

*.*.*

 

          "Shh, little one," Robert cooed to his son as he made his way upstairs to see his wife. "Papa will take you somewhere nice and quiet and you won't have to listen to the dunderheads I call friends. Your 'uncles' can be a bit loud at times, but you'll need time to get used to it," he quipped, a goofy grin curling the corners of his mouth.

          The baby continued to whimper softly, his tiny fist waving fitfully in the air. He eased the door open to find his mother, Nora and Bridgette bustling about the room, setting it to rights. The two maids bobbed a little curtsey to him as they gathered up the last of the soiled linens and left the room. Abigail rose from where she was sitting at Belle's side and greeted her son with a kiss to his cheek, her eyes sparkling with fresh tears. It wasn't a sight he was used to seeing on the usually composed dowager.

          "Thank you, Robbie," she said, her voice laden with unshed tears of happiness. "Thank you for my beautiful grandson."

          He smiled down at the little bundle in his arms, priding making his chest swell. "He is, isn't he? What else could we expect with such a beautiful mother?" he asked, as he took in the thatch of chestnut curls atop the baby's head, the pink apples of his cheeks and his stubborn chin.

          She nodded in agreement. "Yes, he is indeed beautiful. I can see both of his parents in him. I think he will have your eyes and nose once he grows a bit."

          "God forbid!" he gasped in mock horror. "I wouldn't wish my nose on my worst enemy, much less my precious son."

          Abigail snorted. "There's nothing wrong with your nose."

          "Robbie?" Belle called weakly from the bed.

          His mother kissed the baby's brow, smoothing her fingers over his little cheek as she looked up at her own son. "I'll leave you alone now. I'll be in the parlor for a well-deserved cup of tea should you need me."

          Belle smiled up at his aggrieved expression as he relinquished the baby into her arms. She patted the bed beside her, wanting nothing more to have him curl around her and their child, to take comfort from the man she loved and adored above all others. His face lit up as he did as she’d bid and drew her carefully into the circle of his arms.

          "How are you, my love?" she asked softly as she settled the baby against her breast to nurse, wincing as he latched on. "I really thought Emma was going to clobber you with the wash basin last time you stormed up here."

          Robert grunted in affront as he pressed his cheek to her upswept curls. "I will admit – only to you, mind – it was the most difficult experience of my life."

          She hummed in disapproval. "You let your guards down and suffered right along with me, didn't you? This is why I wanted you to go to your club with Jefferson and Killian."

          He pressed a kiss to her temple as his hand cradled the top of the baby's head. "As if I would leave you," he admonished softly. "I would have stayed right here by your side if my mother and Emma would have allowed it."

          She giggled. "And then they would have had to fetch the smelling salts for you once you passed out at the first scream."

          He snorted. "I very nearly did when I first heard you wailing up here." He ducked his head sheepishly, avoiding her gaze. "I may have given Jefferson and Killian a rather difficult time of keeping me locked in my study."

          "Oh, I've no doubt." She switched their son to her other breast and then relaxed once more against the comforting plane of her husband's chest before asking, "What are we going to name him?"

          Robert smiled his half-moon grin as he met her eyes. "I was thinking about all the names we'd discussed, and I think I'd like to name him Baedyn, after my grandfather."

          "I like that," she said, dropping a soft kiss to the baby's brow. "Baedyn. Yes, I like that name. What of his middle name?"

          "Well … I think Thomas would be appropriate … after your father. Maurice’s middle name seems fitting, don’t you agree?"

          "Oh, Robbie," she cooed, her face alight with happiness despite her fatigue. "Baedyn Thomas Gold …"

          "The future Duke of Sheffield."

          She laid their son next to her on the bed, close to her side, his little eyes closed in sleep and then swatted her husband's arm. "There you go, tacking on unnecessary titles to the wee one. Shame on you."

          Robert pressed a lingering kiss to her lips and grinned unrepentantly. "Are you ever going to get used to the way we do things here? There are a few lesser titles passed down from my ancestors I might’ve forgotten to mention."

          "Oh, I think I've adjusted quite well to some things," she teased as she rested one arm about her son and her head against her husband's shoulder. She yawned, feeling the pull of sleep wash over her. "Quite well indeed."

 

*.*.*

 

          Jefferson – grumbling steadily beneath his breath – entered his club and handed over his great coat to the stodgy footman at the door. "Good Evening, Nichols," he muttered tiredly, feeling the stress of the last twenty four hours. "Is Lord Easterly here tonight?" Heaven forbid his friend had chosen a less reputable establishment for the evening. He was  _not_  trekking all over London in search of the man, despite his wife's wishes to the contrary.

          "I believe he's in the blue salon, milord," the footman answered.

          Jefferson nodded and made his way through the crowded halls. Several of his acquaintances impeded his progress. "Rochefort! Is it true the Duchess of Sheffield had her baby?"

          The earl sighed heavily and stared down at Baron Kenworthy. He was a nice enough chap, but Jefferson was on a mission … one he wanted to be done with immediately. He had to wonder which of Robert's servants had blabbed, however. The servant's grapevine of gossip among the _ton_ was renowned for their reliable news. Why should it be any different in the duke's household? "She did indeed," he said, unable to keep the grin from curling his lips. "A boy."

          Viscount Edington slapped his companion on the back jovially. "Pay up, Kenworthy. I told you Sheffield would sire a boy." It was nothing for the younger set to lay bets amongst themselves. Although, he had to think Robbie wouldn't be pleased to hear they were betting on his virility.

          Jefferson nodded to the two and excused himself, venturing further into the establishment in search of Killian. He found him in the blue salon, as the footman had said, a tumbler of scotch at his elbow and a small pile of winnings gathering before him. "Mind if I join you?" he asked of no one in particular.

          Killian's brooding stare met the earl's. "We've a full table as you can see, Jeff."

          Jefferson leaned over Lord Newberry's shoulder and stared down at his cards. "Newberry's losing anyway. I'm certain he wouldn't mind vacating."

          The young lord in question tossed his cards onto the table and turned to glare at the earl. "Why must you do that, Rochefort?! Every bloody time!"

          Jefferson grinned unrepentantly. "Because I can, old boy. Run along now," he shooed the man off, dropping into the vacant seat as the lord scurried away in a fit of pique. He sat back in his chair, shooting a menacing glare at the other two occupants of the table. They didn't hesitate to collect their winnings and follow Newberry from the room.

          Killian sighed and slumped back into his chair, tossing his cards aside and reaching for his drink. "I swear, you're as bad as Rob sometimes."

          Jefferson grinned at him as he motioned a footman forward to order a pint of ale. After the man left, he decided to get right to the heart of the matter. "Emma's worried about you."

          Killian grunted, reveling in the fiery liquid as it coursed a path down his throat. "She has nothing to worry about."

          "Sure she doesn't," he murmured dryly. "Look, Easterly, I don't really like the interest my wife pays you, but –"

          "There's no cause for you to be jealous, Jeff. I have no romantic interest in your wife, and if you would take the time to get to know her, you would realize she doesn't see me as anything more than a friend."

          The earl bristled. "I  _do_  know her. I know she wouldn't be unfaithful to me." He took a sip of his drink as the footman returned and set the pint on the table before him. "She's kind, warm, loving … and the most persistent woman I've ever known. Which is why I'm here. I wish to make her happy now that things are better between us."

          "She doesn't need to worry," Killian sighed. "I'm fine."

          "Are you? Really? Because I saw how you reacted to Esme. What did she do to you, Killian?" Jefferson asked, his brows drawing together in a frown.

          Killian's jaw clenched. "Don't concern yourself with my affairs, Jeff. It's nothing I can't handle on my own," he said, draining the last of his scotch.

          "Yes, you've done quite splendidly so far."

          "Rochefort, so help me –"

          "Oh, ease off man. I'm just curious as to how you of all people, ended up bound to such a beauty."

          Killian leaned his head back against his chair and closed his eyes. Jefferson Madden had been his friend for more years than he could count. He knew he was just trying to help, but he didn't want to discuss what had happened between him and the little gypsy.

          Yet, Jefferson could be just as persistent as Emma when the situation warranted it. "You might feel better if you talked about it."

          "You're not going to let this go, are you?"

          "Of course not," the earl grinned slyly.

          "Fine," he growled irritably as he looked at his friend. "My ship had gone down off the coast of Massachusetts. Most of my men were dead, the ship splintered apart under heavy canon fire, the sea tinged with blood."

          Jefferson wrinkled his nose in horror.

          "You sure you want to hear this?"

          The earl took a long swallow of his drink and nodded.

          "I was injured, a musket ball in my shoulder and losing buckets of blood." Jefferson arched a brow at him. "Ok maybe not buckets, but it felt that way at the time. I found a piece of driftwood and strapped himself to it with my belt before I lost consciousness. I had very little hope I'd make it to shore ... at least before I attracted the sharks."

          A footman came over to refill his glass and he drank deeply as he tried to remember details from his time in Boston. "The next thing I remembered was her … Esme, and that horrid brute of a manservant who dogs her every step."

          "Danior's not that bad. I met him this afternoon when I stepped out for a bit. Quiet fellow," Jefferson quipped.

          Killian shot him a baleful glance. "If you're quite finished …"

          Jefferson waved a hand, urging him to continue.

          "I was burning with fever, in a strange place with people I didn't know and all I knew was she had the loveliest eyes I'd ever seen. Huge amethyst gems which could look right into my soul. She cared for me …"

          "And you fell in love with her," Jefferson deduced for himself from his friend's wistful expression.

          Killian's features hardened instantly. "Did not."

          "Denial. Look, man, I saw the way you reacted when you saw her. There was no indifference in your tone. You forget. I know you; I've seen the boredom which creeps into your eyes when forced to deal with the ladies of the _ton_. This girl … your  _wife_  … sparks a passion within you which you'd given up hope of ever finding. Talk to her."

          Killian glowered across the table at him. "You don't know what you're talking about, Madden. She doesn't want me."

          "You don't know that. Would she have come all the way to London to find you if she didn't want you?"

          Killian slammed his hand down on the table and leaned forward, his voice filled with quiet menace. "What I  _do_  know is her family burst into the little cottage where she was hiding, accused me of stealing her virtue, marched us before a minister and forced us to wed. Yet they didn't for one moment expect us to live together as man and wife. They trussed me up like a Christmas goose and tossed me onto the first ship bound for England. Never once did she try to stop it. What the hell am I supposed to think? That she had a change of heart and now wants to be my wife?"

          Jefferson shrugged, thinking of his own wife and the whirlwind and rather unorthodox courtship they'd had. "Stranger things have happened."

          "To you maybe," Killian snorted.

 

*.*.*

 

          Jefferson rolled his eyes as he helped Killian up the steps of the Sheffield townhouse, his ears burning from the ditty his friend insisted upon singing at the top of his lungs in his inebriated state. Henderson took it in stride as he closed the door behind them and took their coats.

          "I trust you had a pleasant evening, milords?"

          Rochefort groaned as Killian slung an arm about his neck. "I've had better," he snarked. "Lady Emma?"

          "I believe she retired early." Jefferson arched a brow in silent question and the man added, "to your room, milord."

          "What about mine?" Killian stopped singing long enough to ask.

          "I believe she has retired as well, Lord Easterly. The dowager put her in the east wing, three doors down from your own," Henderson provided as Jefferson steered his friend towards the stairs.

          Killian saluted the butler. "Thank you, my good …" *hiccup* "… man."

          Jefferson groaned and fought to maintain his balance as he hauled Easterly up the stairs and then down the hall to the east wing where the guest rooms were located. He scowled down at Killian. An entire evening wasted! he thought glumly. Instead of spending the evening wooing his wife, he'd had to babysit his friend.

          "Why's'it so bloody hot in here?" Killian slurred, dragging Jefferson to a halt in the middle of the hall to peel off his frock coat and cravat, dropping them behind him on the floor.

          "Oh, lord," the earl mumbled under his breath. He grabbed Killian's arm and wrapped it about his shoulders again. "It's because you're drunk, man. Now quiet down before you wake the entire household."

          Instead of quieting down, Easterly broke out into a rendition of _The Rum's All Gone and I'm Gonna Die_. Jefferson wondered briefly if Killian had made that one up. It was loud and off-key and if his caterwauling woke the baby, Robbie was going to toss the man out of the townhouse on his arse. They were nearly there when Jefferson stepped left, Killian stepped right and sent them both careening into a table holding a vase of flowers from Abigail's greenhouse. Its spindly legs collapsed beneath the weight of the two men and the vase shattered on the hardwood.

          Killian groaned as Jefferson pulled him to his feet. "I must've left me sea legs on the ship."

          "Good heavens! What the hell is going on out here?"

          A lascivious grin curled the corners of his mouth as his eyes raked over his wife's alluring curves, swathed in a purple silk nightdress and lacy robe. "Precious!" he drawled suggestively, making a lunge for her.

          "Ack!" she cried, quickly finding herself pinned to the wall by her amorous husband. "Jones! You're smushing me!" The aroma of finely aged scotch whiskey wafted beneath her nose and she banged her head against the wall as she looked up at him. "You're drunk!"

          His arms curled tightly about her waist as he pressed his lips to the rapidly beating pulse beneath her jawline. "How perceptive of you, love."

          "Um … you want me to take him to his room?" Jefferson asked, averting his amused gaze as he shoved his hands into his pockets.

          Esme looked between the two earls and shook her head at their antics. "No, I'll care for him. He probably won't even remember any of this in the morning."

          "Well, um … goodnight then." He made his way down the corridor, glancing back only once to see her wrapping her arm about Killian's waist to lead him into her room. It was clear to him they cared for one another, but he had a feeling it would take longer than necessary from them to see it themselves.

          He turned down the opulently decorated hallway where his room was and nearly ran into Robert. "What are you doing up at …" he glanced down at the face of his pocket watch. "… two in the morning?"

          Robert was unable to suppress a huge yawn. "Belle's hungry," he offered by way of explanation. "I'm going down to see what I can scavenge from dinner." He ran a hand through his mussed hair. "Wanna join me?"

          "Thanks, but no. Emma sent me to the club to see to Killian and now that he's with his own wife, I'd like to be with mine," he sighed.

          Robert's brows rose. "Killian's with Esme … in her room?"

          "No, Robbie, they've camped out on the roof," Jefferson drawled in a droll tone. "Of course, in her room!"

          "Sober?"

          "Not in the slightest."

          "Oh, dear."

          "Yup."

          Robert shook his head, wondering how much more drama would unfold in his household, and sauntered off wearily towards the stairs. Jefferson made haste to his own room before anything else happened to delay him.

 

*.*.*

 

          The door closed behind him with a soft click and it only took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the light of the lone candle burning, perilously close to its end, on the night table. He disappeared into their dressing room and peeled himself out of his clothes, giving himself a quick wash with the cool water from the basin. He would have preferred to have a bath or at least some warmer water, but he didn't want to wake the staff. He could be considerate when he wanted to be.

          He stoked the fire in the hearth before making his way to the bed on silent feet. He smiled down at his wife, her curves hidden beneath the heavy quilt in the center of the bed, her left arm wrapped tightly about his pillow. Carefully, so as not to wake her, he eased himself down next to her.

          "What took you s'long?" she murmured sleepily.

          He sighed and pulled her into his arms, her head coming to rest on his bare chest. "I'm sorry, sweetling. I didn't mean to wake you," he said, pressing a kiss to her brow.

          "Did you talk to him … or at him?" she asked, her piercing emerald eyes lifting to meet his.

          "Are you insinuating I can be a wee bit patronizing?" he asked, arching a questioning brow.

          She yawned and pulled him closer, which brought a slow smile to his lips … one filled with hope that things were indeed getting better between them. "Of course not, my darling husband. Why would I ever say such a thing?"

          He snorted.

          "Now you're being condescending."

          "But you love me anyway," he whispered, rolling her beneath him, his large hands cradling her face as he smiled down at her.

          "I do," she agreed, wrapping her arms about his neck and pulling him down for a lingering kiss.

          "That's all I care about, Em," he promised, tucking his face into the crook of her neck. "In the morning, I'll tell you every last detail, but for now … can we just sleep? I can't ever remember being this exhausted."

          She carded her fingers through his lustrous chestnut hair and sighed, content to hold him as he drifted off. "Of course."

          Emma let herself relax, the worries and stress of their problems melting away as his arms tightened about her. Perhaps if there was hope for them, Killian could find his happily ever after with Esme. One thing was for certain … it was going to be fun to watch. She drifted off to join Jefferson in sleep with a pleased smile upon her lips, content for the first time in weeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you all so much for reading. Please don't hesitate to leave a review and let me know what you think :D


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains adult themes and situations … reader discretion is advised.

          Esme moaned softly in her sleep, flipping over onto her back. She was burning, the intense heat flowing through her veins like a wild brushfire. Had she lain too close to the fire? No fire had ever felt so good. Her arms wrapped about the pillow beneath her head, her back arching as she gave herself over to the pleasure coiling low in her belly. Her dream became more passionate, her lover so skilled and deft in his movements, always the same man, the man she cherished above all others … her husband.

          It felt so good to be in his arms, to have his lips pressed to hers, his tongue tracing over the roof of her mouth and sending her to new heights of pleasure. It had never been this good. Which should have given her a clue. His hand covering her breast, his clever fingers rolling her nipple between them, the silk of her gown providing a delicious friction, forced a gasp from her parted lips. This had never happened before, her lover never so bold as to touch her there. Her innocent desires weren't equipped to supply her with such ideas.

          She stiffened as his hot mouth closed over her nipple, suckling her through the silk of her nightdress. Her amethyst eyes glowed hotly as she stared down at the dark head of her husband and it was nearly a physical pain to have to push him away. "Killian Jones! Stop that at once," she breathed, the scolding she'd planned for him having little effect when it sounded as if she were sighing his name and wishing to pull him closer. "Just what do you think you're doing?"

          Esme moaned as he drew her deeper into his mouth, the sodden silk no barrier as he pressed her nipple to the roof of his mouth and sucked. He let it go with one last swipe of his tongue, grinning devilishly. He moved to the other, giving it the same treatment and she thought she would die from the exquisite torture. "I really thought it would be obvious, love. I'm making love to my wife."

          "What?! No –" she shrieked, but he cut off her protests, swallowing them down as his lips covered hers once more. Her hands fisted in his shirt, half-heartedly trying to push him away, but she couldn't deny the attraction which existed between them. She'd wanted him since the first time she'd seen him when Danior had fished him out of the river and brought him into the cottage. If only her brother hadn't ruined  _everything_.

          Last night when he'd come home so inebriated, unable to even stand on his own, she should have brought him to his own room. Thinking he'd be too sick from a night of drink to put forth any untoward advances, she'd tucked him into her own bed so she could watch over him. If she'd known … oh what had she been thinking? She would have done the same if she'd known. She wouldn't have wanted him to suffer any more now than she had before when he'd been dependent on her for his recovery.

          It had nearly crushed her yesterday when he'd rejected her so openly. She had known he wouldn't be happy when he came face to face with her again after her brother had tossed him onto that ship so unceremoniously. She couldn't help but wonder if Killian could have loved her had Velkin not interfered. A low keen passed her lips as his hand skimmed over her side to settle on her hip, squeezing gently before moving around to cup her bottom.

          "We were denied our wedding night," he crooned softly, his voice just as effective at robbing her of her will as his gently roaming hands and lips. "Don't deny us now, love." His lips moved from the corner of her mouth to the rapidly beating pulse beneath the delicate curve of her jaw, sucking greedily until he'd left a small mark proclaiming her as his. "Let me love you, Esme. Let me make you mine."

          She felt her eyes sting with unshed tears, mourning all that she had lost. "Y-You don't want me, Killian," she said sadly. "You didn't want to marry me. If we do this … I won't be able to grant you an annulment. I won't be able to give you back your freedom."

          His eyes were tiny pinpricks of ice as he slowly raised his head, his gaze narrowed, all traces of desire absent now on his handsome face. "Is that what this is about?" he asked bitterly. "You've come here to ask for an annulment?"

          "Isn't that what you want?" she asked, searching his face for the passionate man who'd only moments before been caressing her with the softest of touches. "Velkin  _forced_ you to marry me. I came here to free you from a marriage you didn't want, and –"

          Killian's upper lip curled into a sneer as he pushed away from her, holding a hand to his throbbing head as he swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up. "I'm a member of the peerage,  _wife_. There will be no annulment," he stated with a finality which left no room for objection.

          Esme gasped. She didn’t know how a simple sea captain could be a member of London’s elite, but she was too worried about his rejection of her offer to worry much about it. "But –"

          He ran his hands through his mussed hair and clenched his teeth. "Understand this, m'dear. Whether you like it or not, you are bound to me. You were given to me by your own family and I am not one to let go of something once it is mine. So, get used to the idea that you're stuck with me,  _Lady_  St. James …" He leaned in closer and grinned, a feral twisting of his lips. "…for better or worse, as they say."

          She didn't appreciate his desire to lord his claim over her and it made her own anger rise up and redden her cheeks. "You told Velkin you didn't want me. Why would you –"

          "Who says I don't  _want_  you, Esme?" he asked, his leering tone making it more than clear to her just what he meant. "You're mine, love … and I plan to keep you. You might want to take some time to get used to the idea."

          He rose from the bed and walked purposefully towards the door, ducking the pillow she threw at his head. He chuckled at her display of temper, reveling in the fire burning hotly in her lovely amethyst eyes. "And don't think about leaving here, m'dear. I won't tolerate you running from me. You won't like it if I have to fetch you back."

          Esme let out a growl of frustration and flopped back against the pillows as the door closed behind him. This was not what she'd expected when she came to London to find him. What was she supposed to do now?

 

*.*.*

 

          Jefferson frowned in his sleep as he reached out across the bed for his wife and found only cool empty sheets. He lifted his head from the pillow, unable to see much of the room from his position sprawled out on his stomach. Where had she gone off to, he wondered as he hauled himself out of the bed with a huge yawn. It held no attraction for him if she wasn't in it with him. He yanked sharply on the bell pull and his valet hurried to heed the summons.

          He lingered at his bath, hoping she'd return to their room and join him, but had to get out when the water began to cool. His mood was steadily turning sour as he dressed and left the room with still no sign of her. He headed down to the dining room for breakfast with the family, hoping a full stomach would ease his temper. He didn't want to crowd her or push her into making a decision about them, but he had to admit he was losing his patience. He should at least be able to wake with her by his side if nothing else.

          Today was going to be a new beginning for them and he wanted to get started on it as quickly as possible. Now if he only knew where his wife was. His skin prickled with pleasure as she came out of the parlor. "Jeff," she called, a warm smile of welcome on her lips. "I thought it was you I heard on the stairs."

          His resolve flew out of the window as she titled her chin up and brushed her lips to his in a sweet kiss of greeting, her long lashes fluttering against her flushed cheeks as her lids closed to savor the moment. She made a mild squeak of distress, her arms wrapping tightly about his shoulders as he lifted and bore her the few steps to the drawing room. Quickly, he locked the door behind them, pressing her between his body and the solid oak barrier.

          "Jefferson! Abby's just across the hall in the dining room … waiting for us to join her. She –"

          "Don't care," he managed just before his lips came crashing down upon hers. His long fingers curled around the ivory column of her neck, his thumb brushing against the rapidly beating pulse point beneath her jaw. Whatever control he'd managed to cling to over the past several days snapped at the first taste of her, and his new mission in life was to devour every delectable inch of her.

          At the first touch of his tongue to the seam of her lips, her protests died away, her mouth opening for him and inviting him inside. He swept in, a ragged moan sounding in his throat as his cock surged to life, the familiar heat and fire which always threatened to consume them springing to life between them. Her fingers coiled tightly in his cravat, the knotted silk pressing against his throat and restricting his breathing. He knew it was unintentional, but damn if it didn't increase his ardor. The nails of her other hand dug painfully into his scalp as she grasped a handful of his hair, pulling him closer instead of pushing him away.

          "Emma …" he whispered, dragging his mouth away from hers when it became necessary to breathe, his hot breath fanning against her lips. His silk neck cloth slipped from her fingers to coil about their feet as she pressed soft kisses against his throat. "God, woman, what you do to me."

          She mewled softly as his lips trailed a scorching path over her throat, his teeth tugging gently at the juncture of her neck. Her head thudded back against the door, pins slipping from her hair to land soundlessly against the Aubusson rug at their feet as her hips surged forward to press against his own. She'd been set aflame and she knew there would be no relief, not when she could hear servants bustling about their duties scant inches away on the other side of the door. "Jeff … we can't … not here, not –" The breath caught sharply in her chest as his hand slipped into her bodice to palm her breast. "Oh, God!"

          "Tell me to stop, Em," he breathed, the fingers of his other hand slowly inching her emerald skirt higher. "Tell me to stop before I ruin everything between us."

          Emma used her grip on his hair to pull his head back, her gaze locking with his as he slowly lifted his warm grey eyes to meet hers. What she saw there made her heart clench painfully. Love, hope, fear, pain … it was all there for her to see. Everything he felt in his heart was there on display. He'd made himself vulnerable, hiding nothing from her. Her kiss swollen lips curled into a faint smile as she pulled him closer. "Touch me, my husband. Please … don't stop."

          His answering growl sent a wave of intense heat spiraling through her veins to pool at the apex of her thighs. Oh, how she wanted him, how she'd missed him, his touch, his warmth … his love. She squeaked in surprise as he groaned and dropped to his knees before her, disappearing beneath her voluminous skirts, his fingers tickling the backs of her knees. But laughter was the last thing on her mind as his nose brushed against her lace covered core. She trembled as his hands gently stroked over the tops of her thighs and pressed the lightest of kisses along the edge of her stockings. And all the while she burned for him, her anticipation nigh unbearable, waiting for him to touch her where she needed him most.

          Emma lifted her skirt, folding it over her arm so she could see him, the rapture on his exquisite features making her throb with need. She watched, mesmerized as his fingers pulled at her stays and tugged her lace knickers away from her quivering sex. She bit down hard on her lip to stifle the cries which fought so valiantly to be heard as he pressed a kiss to her mound, his lips lingering, taking a moment to breathe her in.

          "Patience, my precious wife," he purred silkily, his hand roaming slowly from ankle to knee before lifting her leg to drape over his shoulder. He shifted, spreading her wide, revealing her swollen clit and pink inner folds to his hungry gaze, forcing her to clutch at his shoulders to retain her balance. His hands mapped the gentle swell of her arse, squeezing gently as he pressed his tongue to her cleft, reveling in her little hitching breaths as he moaned his own pleasure against her core. "You taste divine, my love."

          Her fingers delved into his hair, flexing and twisting amongst the silken strands as her mind fritzed and centered on the sensations of his lips and tongue lapping at her dripping folds. He held her tightly to him, offering no escape from the onslaught of pleasure created by his talented mouth. She wasn't able to hold back a moan as he circled her clit with the point of his tongue, sparing her direct pressure, seeking to prolong his slow torture for as long as possible. She bucked her hips as he brought his fingers into play, caressing the tight ring of muscle at her entrance with gentle strokes. She couldn't think, couldn't speak … only feel, and it was enough to drive her mad with wanting.

          Emma ignored the pain in her head as it rapped sharply back against the door, her hips thrusting wildly against her husband's face as she felt her pleasure mounting, the pressure in her womb almost painful with her need for release. "Jefferson, please! Take me … I need you," she whimpered as his fingers slipped inside her. Her inner walls clamped down on him in welcome, fluttering madly and pulling him deeper.

          "No …" His own growl of pleasure vibrated against her bundle of nerves, sending little shocks to spread out to her nerve endings. She begged for release, nearly incoherent with need, her fingers tightening in his hair, fighting against the arm which now held her immobile against the door. Aching, her sex throbbing with want and need, she could barely withstand much more.

          Jefferson smiled – his face glistening with the evidence of her desire – and looked up at her for a moment. He beamed with pride to see her wrecked beyond repair, knowing it was by _his_ lips, _his_ hands, which had brought her to that state. With a saucy wink, he lowered his mouth to her once more, taking her clit between his lips and sucking gently. She came apart with a low keening cry, biting down on the heel of her hand to keep her scream at bay. He pressed a series of soft fluttering kisses to the tops of her thighs as his fingers continued to ease her through her climax, prolonging her pleasure.

          Finally, he allowed her to slide down the door to settle on his lap, her legs wrapping about his waist as she collapsed against his chest. He pressed a kiss to her temple, another to her nose as his hands stroked soothingly over her back. "I love you, rabbit," he whispered reverently.

          Emma lifted her eyes to his, searching his light gray gaze. "Why didn't you …" She let her hand slip between them, cupping his turgid erection where it strained against his dark breeches. "What about you?" she asked, still feeling the emptiness inside where she wanted him so desperately even after her soul-shaking climax.

          He traced the curve of her lips with one long finger, smiling tenderly as he pulled her hand away. "This wasn't about me, Em, but about my need to please  _you_. I've hurt you so badly, I fear I'll never be able to make things right between us again. I won't take pleasure for myself when I know your heart still aches."

          Emma cradled his face in her palms and brought his lips to hers, kissing him gently, reverently, pouring her love into him. "I'm healing, my love. Little by little, you're healing me."

 

*.*.*

 

          Emma hurried back up the stairs to her room to wash up and make herself presentable. There was no way she could dine with the dowager duchess in such a state of dishevelment. Jefferson had grinned wickedly as he'd pocketed her knickers and then helped her collect her hair pins from the floor of the drawing room. She was frantic that no one find out about their little tryst downstairs. It wasn't because she wasn't allowed to dally with her husband, after all. No, it was more about location and she didn't want Abigail to look upon her with disapproval should she find out.

          Her maid smiled knowingly at the wistful smile and dreamy expression on her mistress's face, but held her tongue as she worked to braid Emma's hair, arranging it over her left shoulder to hide the love bite on her neck. She wasn't the first new wife to walk about with marks of her husband's possession. Even with her prolonged ablutions, Emma still beat Jefferson to the dining room, an apologetic smile on her lips as she went to the sideboard and filled a plate before taking a seat next to the dowager.

          "Ah, Emma, I'm so glad to see you, dear. With the noises coming from the drawing room earlier, I was afraid you'd fallen ill," Abigail Gold deadpanned, casting her a not-so-innocent look over the rim of her tea cup.

          "I … um … I may have tripped on the rug and banged my head on the door. Jefferson helped me though," Emma said, lowering her gaze to her plate as she shoveled a forkful of eggs into her mouth. She couldn't hide the blush which tinted her cheeks crimson, however.

          Jefferson chose that moment to enter the dining room, dropping a kiss to the dowager's cheek before moving off to fill a plate of his own. "G'morning, Abby, darling. You look absolutely lovely this morning."

          She snorted, waving him off. "Emma, dear, I'd like to speak with you about –"

          Killian barreled into the room, freezing in his trek to the table upon seeing who was missing. "Esme hasn't come down yet?"

          "No, dear, I expected her to come down with you."

          He turned on his heel and Emma winced as she could hear his boots pounding up the stairs. Jefferson nearly dropped his plate as the former pirate's booming shout echoed downstairs and his fist thudded loudly at his wife's door. The noise from upstairs was muted due to Rochefort's gale of laughter, but there was no mistaking Killian's anger as a door was slammed and he called, "Five minutes, Esmerelda St. James. Five minutes to present yourself downstairs. You don't want me to come back to fetch you."

          "How uncouth," Abigail said with an imperious sniff. "The boy has been away at sea entirely too long. Perhaps now that he's back, he'll remember his upbringing."

          Jefferson sat down across from Emma and winked at his wife. "I'm sure once he's made amends with his lovely wife things will return to normal.

          Killian came back into the dining room, his usually handsome countenance resembling a storm cloud. He paused to greet the dowager much the same as Jefferson had before sitting next to the earl and pouring himself a cup of thick black coffee.

          "Aren't you hungry, dear?"

          "My stomach seems to have soured, Abby. I think I'll wait to see if Esme comes down," he snarled down into his cup.

          Emma arched a brow at him, innocently sipping her tea. "Because you asked her so nicely to join you."

          Abigail cut him off before he could unleash his vitriolic tongue. "Emma, I've come to a decision, dear. I want to host a reception for you and Jefferson at Sheffield."

          "Um …" Emma hesitated, glancing over at her husband. He was unfortunately more interested in his food. "That would be lovely?" She formed it more as a question, feeling her stomach recoil at the very thought. "But wouldn't that involve a house party?"

          "It will serve several purposes, actually. We can celebrate your marriage as well as Killian and Esme's. Everyone is going to be delighted to meet the new Countess Easterly –"

          "I wouldn't go that far, Abby," Jefferson mumbled around a mouthful of bacon. "They're going to pick her apart and toss her to the wolves."

          "They wouldn't dare offend Robert and you know it. Not to mention their wish to become friends with Belle would become a fruitless endeavor should they scorn her dear childhood friend."

          "They'll come if for no other reason than to see the baby," Emma added. "Abby, are you certain this is a good idea?"

          "A party is always a good idea, dear," the dowager said with a cunning smile. "Good morning, Esmerelda."

          The new countess paused in the doorway, her fingers nervously plucking at the skirt of her serviceable grey gown. She murmured a soft greeting, her eyes searching out those of her husband. He rose to his feet and held out a chair for her, choosing to serve her. "Esmerelda, Abby has decided to throw a soiree at Sheffield – the duke's country seat," he added for clarification. "We'll have to make a visit to the modiste to outfit you for your new station as my  _wife_  post haste."

          She glared at him, her narrowed violet gaze shooting daggers at him over her shoulder. Robert chose that moment to amble in, yawning as he reached for the coffee pot and offering an almost incoherent greeting.

          "Robbie, darling, you look disgraceful." The dowager sniffed in disdain at his state of undress, his dressing robe open over his silk pajamas.

          "Sorry, mum." He shot Killian a glare. "Why were you shouting the house down? You woke Bae and you're lucky Belle isn't calling for your head on a pike."

          Emma giggled at his disgruntlement. "How is she this morning?"

          "Tired but happy."

          Jefferson rose from the table and moved to his wife's side, pulling back her chair. "Well, since Killian and Esme will be visiting the modiste and I will be taking Emma out this morning, the darling girl should be able to rest in relative peace and quiet."

          "We're going out?" Emma asked, taking his hand.

          "I have a surprise for you, rabbit," he whispered near her ear. He kissed Abby's cheek as he passed. "Enjoy your party planning, Abby love."

          "Where are we going?" his wife asked as he led her out to the foyer and retrieved her cloak and bonnet. "Are we taking the carriage? Do I need to change? We're not going riding, are we?"

          He silenced her with a kiss, soothing her troubles away with a brush of his lips. "Trust me. I promise you won't be disappointed, and it's only a short walk."

          She took a deep breath and followed him out the door, sticking to her firm resolve to once again put her faith in him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So, I have one more chapter to finish this one off, which will be posted tomorrow. I hope you all enjoyed it :D


	17. Chapter 17

          Emma stared up at the imposing face of the townhouse with a quizzically arched brow. He hadn't been kidding when he'd said it would be a short walk, the brownstone a mere stone's throw from the duke's home. "This is …?"

          "Ours," Jefferson replied, taking her elbow firmly in hand as he led her up the front steps. "Our home here in London. I hardly use it, as I prefer to reside with Robbie, but yes, it belongs to me … now us."

          The door opened before he could put his hand to the knob, the butler stepping back and allowing them entry into the stately foyer. "Milord, good morning," he intoned stiffly, relieving them of their outer vestments.

          "Sanderson, this is Lady Madden, my wife. Em, this is Sanderson, our butler. He will introduce you to the staff later this afternoon after luncheon if that is acceptable?" he asked, anxious to see how she would take to their household servants. Perhaps if she were comfortable here, he wouldn't mind spending more time in his own home.

          "Of course," she agreed, tucking her hand back in the crook of his elbow as he led her away. "Will we be moving here?"

          He tucked a stray curl, which had come loose from her coiffure, behind her ear and smiled softly. "That, my love, will be entirely up to you, will it not?"

          "Jefferson –"

          He covered her lips with a finger to forestall her arguments. "Shh, rabbit. I don't want to quarrel and I'm not trying to push. I simply wanted to spend time alone with you and what better place could we seek privacy than our own home?"

          Emma's heart fluttered as he tilted her chin up and pressed a sweet kiss to her lips before leading her down the hall. He didn't stop to show her any of the rooms with their dark oak paneling and elegant furnishings in muted shades of brown and gold, but led her directly to the kitchens at the back of the house. When she set eyes on the worktable at the center of the room, her breath hitched, realizing why he'd brought her there of all places.

          The hearth blazed cheerily, the lamps were turned low and there was fresh bread baking in the ovens. The curtains had been pulled closed over the mullioned windows to mute the light even more and atop the worktable were two steaming mugs of chocolate and fresh clotted cream. It was a near recreation of their first night in Robert and Belle's kitchen, the night he'd tried to teach her a lesson in desire. Their first kiss.

          "Fancy a cup, little rabbit?" he purred silkily against the shell of her ear as he loomed a breath away at her back.

          "Oh, Jeff, what've you done?" she whispered, breathless with excitement.

          He helped her up onto the high stool before sitting opposite her, just as they'd done that night which seemed forever ago. "I just thought we'd make another memory. And perhaps if I please you, I'll be allowed to suck cream from your tongue," he whispered hotly, causing a fiery blush to settle in the apples of her cheeks.

          "Behave, Rochefort," she admonished lightly, hiding her face behind her mug as she sipped at the sweet delicacy within. Her body still thrummed with desire from their sojourn in the drawing room before breakfast. If he were bent on seduction, her resistance was rather low.

          "I've been pondering on our discord, as you know, and I think I've finally realized how I can prove to you that I do indeed trust you."

          Emma huffed in exasperation. "Jefferson, we've been over this. It's just going to take time for me to move past this. It hurt me that you felt you couldn't trust me. It doesn't mean I've stopped loving you," she insisted, cupping his cheek in her warm palm.

          He leaned into her touch, savoring the contact between them and thankful she was still willing to give him that much. "I know, but I have a secret. It's not really mine to share, and I've kept it for the better part of my adult life … but by sharing it with  _you_ , I'm putting my utmost faith and trust in you."

          "But you will be breaking the faith others have put in you, Jeff, and I can't ask you to do that," she returned.

          "I'm trusting _you_ , Emma Madden … trusting you never to tell a soul what I'm about to divulge to you. This is what you wanted, what we  _need_  to move forward. I don't want to lose you now that you're mine." He took her hands, folding his own around them, bringing them to his lips to kiss her fingertips with all the reverence of an angel. "I fought you, hurt you, kept my secrets from you, and all it did was drive a wedge between us when what we should have been doing is loving each other. I let Edith's threats, her scorn, convince me no one would love me, that no one would want me, and then there was you, my sweet girl, my precious Emma. You showed me what it was like to have someone love me and still I mucked it up and nearly lost you."

          "Jeff … oh, husband, you  _haven't_  lost me," she breathed out in an anguished whisper, slipping off her stool to step between his parted knees and wrap her arms about him.

          "And I want to make sure nothing like this comes between us again. I want you to see my heart is open to you, the doors thrown wide to let you in. Please, Em, please let me do this. Let me show you … my love, my trust, they're yours always."

          She slid her hands over his chest, her thumb coming to brush softly over his throat above the folds of his snowy white cravat as her other slipped around behind to caress the curls at his nape. The open honesty and love in his soft gray eyes made the breath catch in her chest as she realized he'd never allowed himself to be more vulnerable. She held all the power. She could crush him with a word or save him with a nod. It was her choice.

          Emma nodded reluctantly, still unsure whether or not she wished to hear this secret he'd kept for so long. "Tell me … if it pleases you."

          Jefferson took a sip of his chocolate, regarding her steadily over the rim of his cup as he steeled himself for the story he was to impart. "I've told you, I believe, that Killian, Robbie and I met at Eton and became friends."

          "Yes, and Lord Wendell as well. Though as much as you hate him, I can't fathom how you ever became friends."

          "But we didn't always hate him … not at first," he shrugged. "We were all young lords, titled, wealthy, and privileged, away from home for the first time. It hadn't been long since Robbie and I had lost our fathers. He was rather reluctant to leave Abby, but I was relieved to be away from Edith," he admitted ruefully.

          "I can well imagine," Emma hissed, the thought of that vile woman bringing an angry flush to her face. He framed her cheeks in his hands and brushed a gentle kiss to her lips before helping her back atop her stool.

          "Yes," he agreed. "We had our fair share of troubles … simple pranks boys tend to get themselves into, and it took us a while to realize some of the things Malcolm thought funny were really rather cruel, especially towards women." He held up his hand to forestall the myriad questions ready to spill from her petal soft lips.

          "No, rabbit, don't ask. I won't be sharing the details with you. None of the atrocities which seemed to happen around him ever pointed to him as the servants refused to point the finger at him and the one who did was quickly paid off by his father. Once we started really raising hell off school grounds, coming into our own and discovering vices such as drink, gambling and women of less than pure virtue, it only grew worse. The women he frequented came away from the experience worse for wear."

          "He a-abused them?" she asked, horrified. She'd always known he was a lecherous toad, but to think he was abusive as well unsettled her.

          Her husband laughed bitterly. "He did … unspeakable things to them. We began following him more closely after one particular incident, but Malcolm is a slippery blighter. If he doesn't want to be followed, he'll find a way to avoid it. We tried our damnedest to have the proper authorities catch him in the act, but to no avail. It wasn't until the Esterbridge house party just after we'd left school that everything fell apart." He scrubbed his hands over his face, the effort of reliving the events of the past weighing heavily upon him. "Killian was in love with a wonderful girl … Lady Victoria Benton, daughter to the Viscount of Westmore. I'd never seen him so taken with a woman. He was set to go off on his Grand Tour with Robbie and I, his father was insisting upon it. Said he needed the experience before he settled into his duties as the future Earl Easterly. They were to be married when he returned."

          Emma grimaced as she took in the last dregs of her chocolate and poured herself another cup, needing something to do with her hands. "I take it all didn't go according to plan."

          "No, everything went straight to hell. The second night of the house party, Killian and Victoria had made plans to meet in the library for a glass of wine and a few moments alone. It wasn't often she could slip away for a few stolen minutes with her fiancé. Killian never would have dishonored her, he's not the type." Jefferson closed his eyes, his handsome features twisting with pain and remorse for what his friend had suffered. He was at odds with Killian at times, but he still cared about the man. "Malcolm found her first."

          "Malcolm, being friends with you all, surely knew of Killian's engagement to Lady Victoria?"

          "Of course, he knew. He just didn't care," he spat. "By the time Killian got there it was too late. She was ruined, covered in bruises and shrieking hysterically. Robbie and I heard her screams and Killian's enraged bellows from the drawing room where we'd been playing cards, and rushed to see what was going on. Lady Victoria was backed up against the stacks, clutching her torn bodice over her bosom, her eyes so filled with terror … " His eyes darkened with remembered anguish. "Killian had Malcolm down on the floor choking the life out of him." He covered his mouth with his hand, barely registering Emma's fingers twining with his other where it rested against the cool countertop. "Robbie pulled him off, promising we'd get retribution for what had been done, trying to get him to see to Victoria and leave Wendell to us."

          "Oh god, Jefferson," she whispered mournfully, tears pooling in her eyes.

          "Victoria ran, Killian went after her and Robert went to fetch Lord Esterbridge to have him summon the magistrate. I was left to watch Malcolm." Steely gray eyes rose to meet those of his wife. "Do you know what he said to me?"

          Emma shook her head, fearful of his answer.

          "He said 'she wasn't that good anyway'. I don't even remember throwing the first punch. All I recall was Robbie pulling me off him and the magistrate hauling Malcolm away unconscious. Robbie said I nearly killed him."

          "That's why Wendell said you'd failed to kill him before."

          Rochefort nodded. "Yes."

          "What happened to the Lady Victoria?"

          "The house and grounds were searched, everyone frantic to find her." Emma felt her stomach roil with dread as her husband looked down at his feet, refusing to meet her gaze. "She was found the next morning, face down in the lake," he continued. "She'd drowned, apparently just walked into the water. She couldn't swim, had always been deathly afraid to even go near it."

          Tears spilled over Emma's lashes at the despair the girl must have felt. "Poor Killian, he must've been devastated."

          "It nearly destroyed him. Robbie and I took him home, postponed the tour and stayed with him. His father, as well as Lady Victoria's, brought charges against Wendell, but they didn't stick. Though Malcolm's father was a mere baron, the man wasn't known for having the most favorable morals. He called in markers and favors owed to him and had everything brushed under the rug. There was nothing we could do about it."

          "What did Killian do?"

          Jefferson raked a shaking hand through his chestnut curls. "He left. He turned his back on his title, his duties, responsibilities and left England on the first ship to leave port. Said he couldn't stay in England after what had happened to Victoria, and he didn't trust himself not to kill Malcolm if he did. Lord Easterly was devastated by the loss of his son, swore he'd cut him off, but he never did get around to it. Robert had to pull some strings, but when the old lord died, he took over his affairs and investments should Killian ever come back. Then we received word that he'd died in the war. It was rather a shock when he turned up on Robbie's doorstep two months ago."

          "And this is why you fought so hard to keep Malcolm away from me."

          Jefferson rose from his stool, his hand wrapping tenderly around her neck, his thumbs brushing against her jaw in a gentle caress. "I couldn't allow him to harm you, Em … I couldn't. Even then I loved you and I couldn't see you meet that fate," he whispered passionately. "Malcolm is clever and resourceful, and though his father is no longer alive to bail him out of trouble, he hasn't changed his habits. His first wife, timid little thing … he kept her at his country seat, and she died under mysterious circumstances. His second didn't fare any better. Nothing suspicious was ever found, it seeming she died of natural causes, but they were young vibrant girls in the bloom of health when he married them. Knowing what I do of the man, I couldn't allow him to do the same to you."

          Emma shuddered. "Now that Killian is back in London, do you think he's going to pursue his revenge?"

          He shook his head. "I don't know. Esme is a distraction for him at the moment. Only time will tell. But Emma, you cannot tell a soul what I've told you. I'm  _trusting_ you to keep this secret."

          "I know how important this is to you. Jefferson …" She slipped off her stool and wrapped her arms about his neck, burying her face in the crook of his neck as she stroked his back. She could feel the love radiating from him as he held her close to his chest, his arms nigh crushing her. "I will not betray you."

          "Oh, Em … do you see how much I trust you now? I've never spoken about this with anyone aside from Robert and Killian. If they knew –"

"They won't," she assured him, pressing a kiss to his smooth cheek.  " _No_   _one_  will  _ever_  know what you've told me today."

          He cradled her face in his hands, tilting it up so she could meet his gaze, his eyes serious. "It is also imperative that you do not leave the house unescorted. Sweetling, I promise I am not trying to curtail your activities or visits to your friends, but Malcolm is not going to be happy you've escaped him. He wants you too much. It would give me peace of mind to know you are safe. Please?"

          A shudder passed through her at the thought of coming face to face with Malcolm Wendell without her husband there to protect her from such evil. She was certain she could defend herself long enough to get away from him, but it wasn't a chance she wanted to take. "I promise."

          Jefferson dropped a swift kiss to her brow and hurried to the ovens where he could smell the bread which had been baking and was now ready to be taken out. She poured them each another cup of chocolate and spooned a healthy measure of cream atop each while he brought over one of the loaves, a crock of sweet cream butter and a knife. "You forgot the jam, love," she remarked, sitting back upon her stool and sticking her finger into her cup to scoop up a bit of cream.

          He arrested her hand an inch away from her face and brought it to his mouth, his lips closing around her finger as his eyes darkened with desire. Emma's eyes drooped, their color darkening to jade and she couldn't help but lean closer. He released her finger with a soft pop and moved her hand to rest at his nape as his arm coiled about her waist to draw her in. "My beautiful love … my wife," he whispered reverently. "I should have proposed that very night in Robbie's kitchen. I would have if I'd had a lick of sense."

          Her smile was filled with tenderness and just a bit of mischief as she looked up into his warm gaze. "I doubt I would have agreed that night I was so angry with you for trying to teach me a lesson."

          "I was rather angry with myself for wanting you so much." Their light repast lay forgotten on the counter as his lips found hers in a gentle lingering kiss. "I was beginning to love you even then and it scared the hell out of me."

          "I forgave you," she breathed, her own lips ghosting along the corner of his mouth, wanting more.

          "And then set your cap for me."

           "My heart chose you … I really had no choice in the matter."

His fingers traced little heart shaped patterns over the edge of her bodice where her heart beat a frantic tattoo. "Glad I am that it did … now." Jefferson dropped to his knees on the hardwood floor and took her hands in his as he pressed a kiss to her belly. "Marry me," he murmured, a pleading note to his voice which should have been there the first time he asked.

          "Jeff … I already did, love," she replied, cradling his cheek affectionately. "I'm yours."

          "Again. Marry me again. Let me do it right this time, Em. You can invite the entire  _ton_  out to Rochefort or just our closest friends, but I want to give you the wedding my fears and stubbornness stole from you. I want everyone to see you walk down the aisle, to see how beautiful you are and how much I adore you." He nuzzled into her hand, dropping a sweet open-mouthed kiss to her palm which sent her heart racing, the pulse leaping in her wrist. "Marry me, rabbit."

          Emma bit her lip to quell the tears threatening to spill over her lashes. "Y-You really want this?" she asked, her voice heavy with emotion. "You're proposing –"

          "As I should have done before," he nodded fervently. He clasped her hand in his, tugging it away from his cheek to hold in both of his. "Lady Emma, you have stolen my heart. For so long I was lost, without true purpose, without real happiness, never believing I would ever find love. And then I met you." He pressed a lingering kiss to her knuckles before continuing, his eyes moist as he raised them to meet hers. "You awakened a need in me I'd long ignored, a need to be loved. That need became an ache the longer I stood in your presence. You made me want things I never dreamed I could have … love, children, family. You are my home, Emma, my light, my love, my future. I love you to the very depths of my soul and with every beat of my heart. Would you honor me by becoming my wife … again?"

          A sob tore free from her throat as she tugged on his hands, urging him to his feet. "Yes!" she cried, the tears she'd held at bay now rolling freely over her flushed cheeks. "Yes, Jefferson, I will."

          He gathered her into his arms, beaming as she peppered his face with kisses. "Thank you for not giving up on me."

          "Can't. I love you too much," she sighed. She threw her arms about his neck as he swung her up into his arms and carried her out of the kitchen back into the hall towards the ornate staircase which led to the numerous rooms upstairs. "Where are we going?"

          Jefferson buried his face in the crook of her neck as he hurried up the stairs. "We have plans to make, rabbit. What better place than in our bedroom, hmm?" he teased.

          Emma's grin turned positively wicked as she spied the large four poster bed which dominated the chamber. "Our plans will have to be put on hold," she whispered, pressing her brow to his.

          "Oh?"

          "Oh, yes. We have rather a lot of catching up to do," Emma promised, her breath fanning hotly against his lips as he kicked the door shut.

          Jefferson shivered, desire for her leaving him trembling with need. Her deft little fingers were already pulling at his cravat as he bore her to the bed and laid her down gently on the duvet, following after her to kiss a fiery trail over the ivory column of her throat. "Indeed, we do, rabbit."

          She clasped his face between her hands and brought his lips to hers, a smile on her lips. "I love you, my husband."

          "I love you more."

 

THE END…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I can't believe this one is finally over. The last five chapters of this story were some of the most difficult I've ever written, and I cannot express how much your support has meant to me throughout the writing process. I realize this last chapter isn't as long as some of my others, but I hope you'll forgive me. I'm rather happy with the way it turned out. We're all set up for the last story in my trilogy :D I have a few other WIPs to wrap up before we delve into Killian and Esmerelda's story. I really hope you'll join me for that one, too. Again, thank you all for sticking with me and reading this story. Love and hugs to you all.


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